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33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  )4S80 

(716)  872-4503 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


1 


1987 


Technical  and  Oibliographic  Not«t/Not««  t«chniquM  «  bibhoqfaph.quM 


Th«  Institute  hat  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
onqmal  copy  available  for  filming    Features  of  thia 
copy  which  may  be  biblioqraphically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  m  the 
reproduction    or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below 


L  Institut  a  microfilm*  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu  il  lui  a  etc  possible  de  sr  procurer    Las  details 
de  cat  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut  Atre  uniques  du 

lint  da  vue  bibliographique.  qui  peuvent  modifier 
L     •  image  reproduite    ou  qui  peuvent  eiiger  une 
m(..iification  dans  la  m*thoda  normale  de  filmage 
sent  indiquAs  ci  dessous 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couvertura  dr  couleur 


r^~1    Covers  damaged/ 

I I    Couvertura  endommagee 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Co'iverture  restaurie  et/ou  pelliculAe 


r~~]     Cover  title  missing/ 

I       1    Le  t.tre  de  couvertura  manque 


n 

□ 


Coloured  maps/ 

Cartas  g*ographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  li  e    other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encra  da  couleur  lie   autre  qua  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli*  avac  d'autres  documents 


□    Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagees 

r    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
,    Pages  restaurees  et/ou  pellicul*es 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
^     Pages  decolorees.  tachet^es  ou  piquees 


□    Pages  detached/ 
Pages  detachees 

EShowthrough/ 
Transparence 

□    Quality  c*  print  varies/ 
Qualit*  il  jgale 


D 


gale  de  I'impression 


Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


D 


□ 


Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

Lareliure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  da  la 
distorsion  !•  long  da  la  marga  intariaura 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutAes 
lors  dune  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  taxte. 
mais.  lorsque  cala  itait  possible,  cas  pages  n'ont 
pas  At*  film*es. 


□    Only  edition  available/ 
Saule  Edition  disponible 


D 


Pag»s  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc  .  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata.  une  pelure. 
etc  .  ont  *t6  filmies  *  nouveau  de  facon  a 
obtanir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


D 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  supplementaires 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film*  au  tauJ-  de  reduction  indique  ci-dessous. 

14X  18X  22X 


10X 


/ 


26X 


30X 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  h«r«  haa  b—n  r«produc«d  thanks 
to  tha  ganaroaitY  of: 

H«roW  CamptMll  Viughtn  Mamorial  Library 
Acadia  Univartity. 

Tha  imagaa  appaaHng  hara  ara  tha  baat  quaiity 
posaibia  conaidaring  tha  condition  and  lagibiiity 
of  tha  original  copy  and  In  liaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apaciflcatlona. 


L'axamplaira  f1lm4  fut  raproduit  grica  4  la 
g4n*rosit*  da: 

Harold  Campball  Vaughan  Mairwriai  Library 
Acadia  Uni«ar«ity. 

Laa  imagaa  auivantaa  ont  *t*  raproduitaa  avac  la 
plua  grand  soin.  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  l'axamplaira  fllm4.  at  tn 
conformit*  avac  laa  condltiona  du  contrat  da 
flimaga. 


Original  copiaa  In  printad  papar  eovars  ara  fllmad 
beginning  with  tha  front  eovar  and  anding  on 
tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  Improa- 
tion.  or  tha  back  cowar  whan  appropHata.  All 
othar  original  copiaa  ara  fllmad  beginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  Improa- 
sion.  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  pHntad 
or  illuatratad  impraaaion. 


Tha  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  -^^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  ▼  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  appliee. 

Mapa.  plataa.  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratioa.  Thoae  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  axpoaure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  comer,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  aa  many  framea  aa 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Laa  axamplairee  orlginaux  dont  la  couvertura  an 
pepiar  eat  imprlm4e  sont  filmAe  9n  commencant 
par  le  premier  plat  at  an  tarminant  soit  par  la 
damiAce  page  qui  comporte  ur<e  ampreinte 
d'tmpreeaion  ou  d"lllustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  caa.  1  oua  laa  autraa  axamplairas 
orlginaux  sont  filmte  an  commencant  par  la 
pramlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  smpreinte 
dlmpreealon  ou  d"UU!Stratlon  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  demlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  dee  symboiee  suivants  apparattra  sur  la 
demiAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  seion  le 
caa:  la  symbole  -^  lignifle  "A  SUIVRE'  .  ie 
symbols  ▼  signifle  "F^N"'. 

Lae  cartea,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  Atre 
fllmte  A  dee  taux  de  rMuction  diffArents. 
Lorsque  le  document  eat  trop  grand  pour  Atra 
raproduit  an  un  seul  cilch4,  il  est  film*  «  partir 
de  I'angle  sup«rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  *  droita. 
at  de  haut  t*  baa,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'Imagaa  n«caeaaire.  Laa  diagrammea  suivants 
lllustrant  la  m^thoda. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

A 


FATHER  LAVAL; 


OR,  TBI 


JESUIT  MISSIONARY: 


^  afal^  of  th^  Itoitth  Jinnri4att  Indians. 


BY 
JAMES    McSHERRY,  Esq., 

ACTHOE  or  "A  HlbTOBT  OF  MAKTLAXD,"  "WILUTOPT,"  Ita 


BALTIMORE: 
PUBLISHED  BY  JOHN  MURPHY  &  CO. 

182  Baltixori  Stsxxt. 
1868. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  CongresK,  in  the  year  IMO,  by 

JOHN  MURPHY, 

in  the  Clerli'B  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  SUtes  fop 
the  District  of  Maryland. 


^'^MM^^fM 


THIS  LITTLE  STORY  WAS  DEDICATED 


TO   A 


liind  and  ^/feijtionaf?  4atheit» 


AND   18    NOW 


INSCRIBED   TO    HIS    MEMORY 


BY    A 


(5tuittnl  ^an. 


111 


2^  0  ?  2^\ 


PREFACE. 


I  HE  intention  of  the  writer  of  the  fol- 
lowing tale  has  been  to  portray,  at  least 
indistinctly,   one   of   those   magnificent 
scenes  in  which  the  Jesuits  of  the  Canada  mis- 
sions were  actors,  in  the  early  settlement  of  that 
country.     The  sufferings  of  the  missionary,  his 
indomitable  courage  in  the  apostolate,  and  the 
effect  of  Christianity  upon  the  Indian  convert, 
are  the  prii-ipal  points  of  the  picture  which  he 
has  desired  to  present,  though  he  has  not  dared 
to   crater    into   all    the   terrible   details   of   the 
Mohawk  torture,  as  it  was  too  oflen  endured 
by  those  patient  and  heroic  martyrs.     The  foun- 
dation of  the  story  is  laid  upon  the  history  of 


VI 


rUKFACK. 


FatluT  Isaac  Jogiies ;  though  the  roscue  in  the 
narrative  is  entirely  fictitious,  yet  its  general 
bearing  is  not  at  variance  with  the  resnlts  of 
his  ad  veil tn res. 

Siiif'C  its  first  issne,  tliis  story  has  re<'eive(l 
the  compliment  of*  a  repnblication  in  P^ngland, 
and  lias  obtained  the  fiivoralile  notice  of  the 
Catholic  press  of  this  eonntry. 

It  has  been  fur  some  time  out  of  print,  and 
liaving  been  revised  and  enlarged,  the  Pub- 
lishers take  pleasure  in  again  offering  it  to  the 
public  in  a  new  and  more  inviting  dress. 


CONTENTS 


cairrea 

FAOI 

I. 

Th«    MlSfllONART            .            .                                                           Q 

•               •               •               •               •            IF 

II. 

TlIK    DeI'ARTI  KB 

• 

• 

.     16 

III. 

Tub  Inbtriction 

• 

• 

.     23 

IV. 

NlfJIIT    ll'ON    THE    WATKR.S 

■ 

• 

.     85 

V. 

Tub  Co.nflict    . 

» 

.     57 

VI. 

Tub  Morn          .... 

73 

VII. 

TiiK  Kkturn       .... 

< 

91 

VIII. 

Bai'Tih.m  in  Bondaoe 

1 

108 

IX. 

The  Council      .... 

• 

134 

X. 

The  Torture     .... 

• 

105 

XI. 

The  Wreath  of  Wild  Flowers 

• 

190 

XII. 

The  Conclusion 

• 

• 

203 

vii 


FATHER  LAVAL, 


CIIAPTKH  I. 


TlIK  MISS  fox  A  R  r. 

|N  the  ycr  of  our  Lord  1642  the  various 
niLs-sionarystatioiLs  of  the  Jesuits  through- 
out Canada,  or  New  France,  an  it  wa.** 
then  called,  were  threatened  with  all  ihe  wild 
fury  of  the  savage  and  untamable  Iroquois.  The 
Five  Nations  had  proved  themselves  tlie  most  un- 
conquerable in  their  hostility  to  the  white  man, 
to  the  religion  which  he  taught,  and  the  civili- 
zation which  he  endeavored  to  introduce.  In 
vain  had  overtures  of  peace  been  made.  For  a 
time,  perhaps,  as  if  slumbering  from  indolence 
or  exhaustion,  they  ceased  to  ravage,  but  it  was 

9 


I( 


I 


■ill 


jl 


10 


THE   MISSIONARY. 


only  to  break  forth  again  with  more  fnrious  en- 
ergy. Their  bands  of  braves  ^^  ranged  tlie  illim- 
itable forests,"  with  no  power  to  control  them 
and  no  ri-als  whom  they  dreaded.  They  trav- 
ersed the  St.  Lawrence  and  lakes  Erie  and  On- 
tario, and  they  strnck  their  enemy  upon  the 
shores  of  Lake  Champlain. 

Every  missionary  on  his  way  to  his  distant 
staaon  was  in  constant  danger  of  captivity  and 
death;    and  yet  never  were  those  stations  left 
unfilled  for  want  of  brave  and  devoted  men  to 
dare  all  the  terrors  of  the  route,  and  the  chances 
of  enduring  the  torture  at  the  villages  of  the 
Mohawks.     The  path  to  the  Huron  missions  was 
perhaps  more  completely  beset  than  any  other 
ior  the  Iroquois  had  succeeded  in  cutting  olf  or 
at  least  in  interrupting,  the  communication  be- 
tween   Upper   and   Lower   Canada.     They  had 
possession  of  the  intermediate  j^asses. 
_  In  Quebec,  in  that  year,  the  feast  of  St.  Igna- 
tins    the  founder  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  was 
celebrated  with  no  ordinary  splendor.     The  fa- 
thers on  that  joyous  occasion  offered  up  wuth  full 
hearts  the  glorious  crown  of  souls,  gathered  from 


^mk^^i^mmm^m  '¥^ 


THE  MISSIOXARY 


n 


the  wilderness  — gathered    up  to   the    ^^  greater 
honor  of  God  "  by  the  sons  of  St.  Ignatius,  from 
the  wandering  children  of  the  forest.     It  was  no 
iQQWn^  of  earthly  glory  or  of  human  pride  that 
swelled  within  their  hearts  as  they  raised  them 
up  towards  heaven,  throbbing  high  with  exulta- 
tion.    It  was  not  the  triumph  which  lightens  up 
the  eye  of  the  worldly  conqueror  and  curls  his 
lip,  that  made  their  step  more  stately,  and  their 
pale   features    glow   with    an    unwonted    flush. 
They  were  spiritual  soldiers;  and  they  felt,  in 
their  hearts,  the  glory  of  their  calling,  and  the 
martial  joy  of  victory  over  the  infernal  enemy 
against  whom  they  battled.     Many  a  full,  deep 
voice  trembled  as  it  chanted  the  solemn  service; 
age  prayed  with  its  chastened  calmness;  youth 
vowed  to  make  itself  more  worthy  of  the  glorious 
founder  under  whose  banners  they  were  enlisted 
in  the  service  of  God.     Deep  was  the  feeling  that 
pervaded  all  hearts  on  that  memorable  festival. 

Among  the  priests  who  knelt  at  the  altar,  was 
one  remarkable  for  his  worn  and  sunburnt  aspect. 
A  little  beyond  the  full  prime  and  strength  of 
manhood,  with  the  nobilitv  of  natnrp  efomr^oH 


itiiiiit 


J 

u 


12 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


upon  his  brow,  he  was  a  man  calculated  to  strike 
the  attention  of  all  who  looked  upon  him.  And 
yet  there  was  nothing  hard  or  stern  in  those 
grave,  calm  features ;  they  were  the  true  picture 
of  a  good  and  gentle  heart,  a  mind  tutored  in  the 
patient  and  enduring  school  of  Xavier  and  Loy- 
ola, a  will  subdued  and  mortified.  Father  Jean 
Laval  was  preparing  himself  for  a  renewal  of  his 
arduous  mission  in  thft  western  wilderness.  A 
few  weeks  of  rest  and  relaxation  had  elapsed 
since  he  had  completed  the  perilous  voyage  from 
the  missions  at  the  falls  of  St.  Mary,  between 
lakes  Huron  and  Superior,  and  now  he  was 
assisting  for  the  last  time  for  many  months,  it 
might  be  for  ever,  with  his  brethren  of  Quebec, 
at  the  holy  mystery  of  the  altar.  And  yet  the 
perilous  voyage  before  him  did  not  appear  to 
weigh  upon  his  mind.  Abstracted  from  all 
earthly  things,  his  soul  seemed  only  the  more 
closely  wrapt  in  the  contemplation  of  things 
heavenly.  Not  so  with  many  a  full  heart  in 
that  thronged  t<?mple  of  God :  but  the  fulness  of 
their  hearts  only  made  them  mingle  more  fer- 
vently with  their  prayers  the  name  of  him  on 


-m^mmm 


!i|gwHBf'i.j.i 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


13 


whom  their  eyes  now  rested  with  such  deep  love 
and  admiration.  He  was  going  once  more  to 
that  nation  of  pious  Indians  of  whom  they  had 
heard  such  joyful  tidings  — who  clustered  to  the 
true  altar  of  God  in  thousands;  a  Christian  peo- 
ple in  the  v.'ilderness.  He  was  going  to  enlarge 
the  empire  of  the  gospel,  to  plant  the  cross  in 
new  regions,  to  face  new  dangers,  it  might  be  to 
win  a  martyr's  crown.  It  was  a  noble  spec- 
tacle to  them,  a  spectacle  of  Christian,  chivalric 
devotion. 

At  length  the  last  chant  of  the  solemn  mass 
had  ceased  to  swell  in  the  crowdefl  aisle;  the 
benediction  had  been  given,  and,  silently'  and 
with  holy  recollection,  the  worshippers  departed 
to  their  homes.  A  small  group  of  Indians  alone 
remained  before  the  church.  In  a  few  moments 
Father  Laval,  in  his  cassock,  accompanied  by 
another  priest  of  his  order,  issued  from  the 
sacristy,  where  he  had  disrobed,  and  advanced 
towards  them. 

^'My    dear    children,"    he    said,    "all    my 
arrangements  are  completed :  we  will  depart  to- 
morrow.    Our  Superior  so  wHla  ,>  '^ 
2 


..f  ■  •'"-».'i%u«i..  iiiH^.ilit  ■ 


«i 


I 


II 


I  i 


1 


u 


T/ff:    MrSSIOXARi' 


"It  is  pjood,"  roplicd  one  of  their  number, 
who  appeaml  to  be  the  chief  of  the  party. 
"Ahasistari  hears  his  father,  the  bhickgiwn." 

"At  daybreak,  then,  sachem — " 

"TJie  Ilurons  will  be  ready."  And  the 
party  scjiarated,  Father  Laval  and  his  compan- 
ion pursuing  their  walk  to  the  liouse  of  their 
Order. 

"  Ah,  my  friend,  what  a  glorious  lot  is  yours  ! 
You  go  to  carry  the  cross  of  Christ  to  the 
heathen  !  Oh  !  shall  we  not  envv  vou  the  inesti- 
mable  happiness  of  being  tliought  worthy  of  such 
high  honor?  "  fervently  exclaimed  the  companion 
of  Father  Ijaval. 

"  No,  my  brother ;  rather  pray  for  me  that  my 
unworthiness  may  not  render  fruitless  the  prayers 
of  the  good  and  pious  in  behalf  of  the  benighted 
Indian.  And  yet  it  is  a  glorious  field  of  labor ; 
so  rich,  so  sweet,  so  full  of  consolation ;  all  its 
toils  and  dangers  well  repaid  by  the  happy  privi- 
lege of  winning  souls  to  God.'^ 

"  And  happy  are  the  auspices.  Father  Laval ! 
On  this  festival  of  our  great  saint,  you  prepare  to 
add  new  glory  to  his  name  on  earth,  by  bringing 
new  children  to  the  fold  of  Christ." 


^■.4^-rfr«Sj^ 


gftl^igjjj:'^," 


iiUzliiViiiL 


^^8BB?p^l 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


15 


"  And  to-morrow,  Father  Anthony,  to-morrow 
IS  the  feast  of  *M«  chains  of  St.  Peter:  '' 

"Happy  coincidence,  my  brother,"  exclaimed 
Father  Anthony.  "You  go  on  that  day  forth 
to  bind  the  savage  in  the  chains  of  Peter  to 
win  wandering  cliildren  to  the  footstool  of  his 
Master.' '' 

"  Or  to  wear  my  chains  like  him  ;  but,  alas '  I 
am  not  deserving  of  such  favor.  I  shall  not  be 
deemed  worthy  of  suffering  for  him  who  died  for 

for'the?!  >>'"'''""'  '''  ''"•  ^  '^^^  ''''  ^'^ 
"Happy  apostle!   happy  in   the  chains   and 
suffering    you    may    be   worthy   of    enduring.   ' 
We,  iAy  brethren,  seek  a  remembrance  in  thv 
prayers."  ^ 

^  "  Father  Anthony  Daniel,"  said  the  mis- 
sionary  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  as  they  reached 
the  end  of  their  walk,  "  it  shall  be  thine  next  " 


fW 


111 


I 

•1 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  DEPARTURE . 


L 


|N  the  following  morn,  the  first  day  of 
August,  a  gallant  fleet  of  war  canoes 
floated  gayly  from  beneath  the  guns  of 
Fort  Quebec.     The  plumed  and  painted  Indians, 
bowing  their  strength  to  the  paddles,  sent  their 
light  and  graceful    barks  rapidly  into  the  mid- 
waters   of  the   broad   St.  Lawrence.     The   sun 
was   just    rising,   and    breaking   dim    and    red 
through    the    heavy   mists    that   overhung    the 
river ;  yet  ere  the  last  canoe  swept  into  the  line, 
the  veil  of  vapor  began  to  disappear  before  its 
powerful  rays.     Breaking  into  light  clouds,   it 
rose  and  floated  slowly  away  towards  the  south, 
wL'le    streams    of    sunshine    poured    brightly 
through   each   opening,   lighting   up    the   earth 
\vith  a  rich  o-low.  and  clothing  the  placid  bosom 

^  "       16 


THE    DKIWTiTUHE. 


17 


of  ihii  rivor  with  a  robe  of  gold.  As  the  mist 
dispersed,  the  seene  around  became  distinct  in 
Its  f.ill  beauty,  and  the  infant  eity  .seemed  to 
waken  uj)  to  life  and  aetivitv.  A  erowd  of 
citizens  stood  upon  the  cpuiv,  gazing  ea-erly 
and  fondly  on  the  receding  fl(.,t,  as  if  it'^con- 
tamed  some  dear  object  upon  which,  perhaps, 
iVoy  might  be  looking  for  the  last  time. 

In  the  rearmost  and  largest  canoe  were  the 
only  two  white  men  of  the  party -Father 
Joan  Laval  and  iiis  y(,„„g  assistant,  tho^  novice 
Kene  Boimloise.  Guiding  the  canoe  in  which 
they  sat,  Ahasistari,  the  chief,  seemed  to  guard 
their  comfort  and  convenience  as  the  first  object 
of  his  care.  -^ 

Tl,e    vigorous    arms   of  the    Indian    rowers 
impelled  the  eanoes  westwanl  up  the  St.  Law- 
rence, and  when  the  foremost  was  abont  disan- 
peanng  to  the  view  of  the  party  on  the  quay, 
iather  Laval  arose  in  the  trcn.bling  bark,  and 
extending  h,s  hands  towards  heav:n,  invUed 
aganj    that    blessing    upon    their     pilgrimage 
wluoh   he   had   already,   i„   eon.pany   with   his' 
brethren  and  whole  pno„le.  so  Pnrn»<,tl„  i.„..„....^. 


*••♦.•  ••  **">^^'W4.,t.  ittiiilNin' 


18 


TIIK    DKPA  liTrRF. 


! 


I 
fl 


Then,  with  an  alUHtionate  wave  ot  Irs  haiul, 
lie  l)a(lo  adieu  to  his  distant  tViv'iids,  and 
resuming  his  scat,  bowed  Iiis  head  in  sih'nt 
prayer.  At  the  same  instant  a  wreath  of*  smoke, 
accompanied  with  a  hrij^ht  flash,  hurst  from  tiie 
walls  upon  the  heights  of  Abraham,  and  the 
heavy  sullen  roar  of  cannon  swe})t  in  a  moment 
more  across  the  waters,  while  the  cloud  of  smoke 
rose  slowly  and  spirally  towards  the  heavens. 
Father  I^aval  raised  his  head  and  gazed  for  a 
single  instant  upon  the  standard  of  France,  as  it 
waved  r)ver  the  impregnable  fortress,  and  then 
resumed  his  prayer  and  meditation.  No  sound 
now  broke  upon  the  ear  but  the  slight  splash  of 
the  paddle  as  it  dipped  lightly  but  vigorously  in 
the  stream,  and  the  nuirmuring  of  the  rippling 
current  around  the  sharp  bow  of  the  canoe  in 
its  rapid  course. 

The  young  novice  looked  upon  the  bright, 
glad  scene  around  him  with  a  subdued  pleasure, 
now  curiously  watching  the  lithe  and  active 
forms  of  the  graceful  Indians  as  they  bent 
their  strength  to  their  paddles,  and  now  casting 
his  eye  towards  the  glorious  scenery  that  bor- 


-.■v».»«KMW»«»P?Ki 


..'WUIJrMI"   '*J 


I'm:   DEVAHTVRE 

19 

"lunHrs  Had   ijc  mini horwl    -uwl  ,.  *   i 

•"■ar,ne.l  an.l  .l.,o„c.le.s.  thro,.:    ?  U    '    ."'.'"•''j 
'l.'alle.l  l„,u,(y  ,.f  ,!,„  view  ar, ,  ».  ."""■ 

-lencoa„.l.ere„ityr,,'  rTr-  ""^  ''>■'"« 

"i^-'ri/:;'^,:  '^''^'"' '-"--'  "■•- 

our  a;du,i,7o'J.:;"^-V"--'  ha|>|.i'y  upon 
oarth  around  T  wh^,.  ,??',  "^^•'"""•••'  '«  «"■« 
«.r  the  sec.no  0/,:!  "  J^ '^  T"  '"  """' 
Go«',  m,  children,  infin^    X,.„f  /!  "  ^^ 

med.tate  upon  his  in&,itp  .0.".  -      '  ,  ^'  "* 

o^--^iii;DB,  ana  mercy 


20 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


W 


and  love.     It  is  fitting  thus  to  Ix'gin  and  con.sc- 
cratr  our  labors." 

The  Indians  assented  with  the  usual  short  and 
suhducd  exclamation :  and  for  a  space  no  sound 
was  heard  save  the  regular  strokes  of  the  pad- 
dles, while  the  eanoe  proceeded  with  unslackened 
speed.  After  s^me  time  spent  in  meditation, 
the  go<Hl  ])riest  eniidoyed  himself  in  reciting  his 
otfice,  and  Rene  liourdoise  gazed  calndy  down 
towards  thd  receding  towers  of  (iuehcc  until  he 
caught  the  last  glimpse  of  the  lofty  flag-statf 
bearing  the  i)anner  of  St.  Dennis.  As  the 
scenery  became  wilder  and  more  desolate,  his 
mind  began  to  recur  to  the  bright  scenes  of  his 
native  land,  and  to  visit  once  more  the  beautiful 
and  fertile  plains  of  France.  The  recollection  of 
home  and  early  friends,  of  parents  and  distant 
kindred,  came  rushing  upon  the  youth,  casting  a 
dark  and  gloomy  hue  upon  the  prospects  before 
him.  Desolation  and  danger  seemed  to  deepen 
round  him ;  yet  suppressing  these  thoughts  with 
a  single  aspiration,  he  jlaced  himself  under  the 
invocation  of  the  Holy  Immaculate  Virgin,  and 
devoted  himself  without  reserve  to  the  will  of  God. 


■  •'•^-<*<  <<»t*t-tnxr*/i 


--•t.j««it$^^:fp-i5ii:ir^qp^^ 


THE   Itr.I'MtTlliE. 


81 


"""•',  tl,a.    tl„.    „|,i.,.s  of  ,|„.  „.,r.v      '"•"""- 
'-'"'••■•-'  '<•  <v.Ty   ,l.i„,,   ,,„t   „,„   ,.„„„;,,;^,  , 

M.  lH,n,„,.-.r,,„n,l..  or, iK.ir  ,,. il,,. ;  a„,l  „.,.,.,..:„   • 
-l'>e\  (li.splavcd  111  iK,tl,i„,r  tl.at  \W.y.  u-..  •   I 

Ir""'  "''"^'  ""^>-  --  i>-o,.a..o,i ,;...  :^; 

I'-atli-r  Uval,  affr  .some  tm.o,  ,.los,.,I  l,i.  |,„„,. 
«".     turn,,.,,   .owar.1.,   „.«  leader   of  tl, o  ,       !' 
addressed   Ijini :  l'''">; 

'^y.v.o,,,„l,at,i,i„kyo,,  , •«,!,«  ,,,.os,,„,  of 
our  safely  ,>it<s,i,f;,  by  th^  ,vators   u\\Ju 

'"-^io„.s-.'     M-,ro  it  ,„t  l,,.„..r    o'l,  ,  "'"" 

Af,..r  a  ,„o„„.,.f,  ,,,„„,    ,v,,,„.,,„.i 
•a.l.or,  ,1,0  .vay  is  lo,,,.  a,„l  ,„il,o„.e  1 ,      , li 
«lM,cn,a„,a,.,ll,isc,.ailisbn,a,l.     The V  1  ,    k 
crosses  the  river,  a„.l  hi^  eve  is  ke..„      T. 

"".«  water,  keep  ..o  t,.ail,  :.,,n  ti";,,o!.  !;'"'■ 
are  swift  and  easy.     \U  f...^ r        ""  '•"'""'^ 


-4»4*»«ilM(Hto4|.' 


\\ 


!1 


THK    l)K rArtTlliF. 

tij.'it   Aliasistjiri   will  share  tl>y  lort lines  ^vhetluT 
of  (lejith   or   lite !" 

"  T<>  your  skill  ami  ju<l)^ment  T  eonfKle  tlio 
elioiv'e  of  the  route  —  the  issue  is  in  tiie  hands  of 
the  Almighty." 


II 


>wy-»  \mi-\vimmmmm4. 


CUAfTKR  III 
Till-:    IXSTKLCTIOX. 

F  tho  ri,<li:,„s,  wh.,  ,.,„„,,os,..l   (I,,.  e,s,,,rt 
of  tl...  Mi,sH„„ari,,M,  .,o„„,  „.,,,^,  ,„,j  ^.^^ 

l.ar.tu..l.   All,  h„„ev,.r,l.a<II„.anl,  with 

Jcvou   „„<.„„„„,  „„.  ,,„,„.,,i„^,  ^^.  „,^,  _,; 

w.."<l,.rf,,l   .i.li,,,..  „„a  ,,„,,   ,,^,,.  ,^,,^,      jI;     J^ 

'"•  '•"'■'■''.''  1'^'"^'  ''<-'■'<-"<-'  l""K  K.  a.l,nit  to  [he 
rcB..„cm„„,.  ,vators  .,f  ;,„,„;„„   „„„,   ^^         « 

!'" •■•    "'-'   '-    '■•■^-•c.l,  wore    not    .s„i,i,.,e      , 

ll-  "".a.,.I,t  I„.lia„,  a,.,.u.sto„u.,l  ,„  n  l' 
.  r,.,.h  ,  ..,  u.l..n...s,  .,,h  .1,0  w„.l.s  „f  ^r: 
fouve,    „,„•,.  Ins  ,.l,s,Tva„toyos,an.l  with  incon, 

p:';;"r ;■- ---"".in.,  ..nabio  ,o  fa.i.; ; : 

n->t  .  OS  ,.     „,.,„,,  „a,,    „,,  „,  « 

own   life,  felt  wit|,l„   I  •       •  "" 


iii)it.'<>W  4l.„ 


iic  coiiviction  of  a 

23 


Tl' 


Hii-iritl  «l»1i#  i||.-> 


24 


Til E   IX S  T R  U CTIO N. 


supreme,  invisible  Existence.  With  the  book  of 
nature  open  before  him,  and  natuie's  voice  ever 
in  his  ear,  he  mij^lit  well,  by  the  dim  ii<rht  of  his 
uncultivated  reason,  wander  into  the  labyrinths 
of  polytheism ;  but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
stitle  or  forget  the  instinctive  belief  of  humanity 
in  the  God  invisible,  supreme  over  all.  The 
unlettered  wanderer  in  the  boundless  forests  had 
leached  the  same  point  of  knowledge  at  which  it 
had  been  possible  for  the  sage  of  antiquity  to 
arrive.  lie  worshipped  the  "unknown  God." 
But  the  machinery  of  the  universe  was  beyond 
the  power  of  his  intellect,  and  he  found  a  minor 
deity  in  every  bird  and  beast  and  fish  and  tree 
and  stone.  When  the  Catholic  missionary 
preached  to  him  of  the  God  infinite,  supreme, 
eternal,  filling  all  space,  at  whose  will  the  world 
and  all  its  life  and  beauty  had  sprung  into  being, 
and  at  whose  will  the  earth  again  would  melt 
away,  who  was  the  Creator  and  the  Lord  of  all, 
and  "in  whom  all  things  lived  and  moved  and 
had  their  being  ;'^  to  his  unsophisticated  mind, 
it  seemed  worthy  of  the  great  S})irit  which  his 
instinct  had  sought  after  in  nature,  and  beyond 


ilUtUre,  lii    Vaili. 


•■'  •i'WWtffmWJftW!* 


TJin  ixsrjircriox. 


25 


The  piety  a.ul  .eal  and  ,s„,,o,i„r  k„o« Iclge  of 

-  Prcaoi,e.l  ,o  ,l,e.„  of  .ho  .Savi„„r  wl,..  had  co.ne 

.'1""'  earth,  ,„•  his  ,h.aH.  a„,l  of  his  r^sunocZ 

ior    he  .ulvation  of  all,  a„.l  ,.„,ol.,e.l  to  then    he 

ovKlenco.  of  Chn.stiani.y,  they  listened  ^i,     r  J 

on™.t..h.,vonL,a„dcWhodthemi„th"ir 

In  his  own  canoe.  Father  Jean  Laval  had  j.Iaced 
«o  of  l„s  neophyte.,  for  the  purpose  of  eo  ,tinu- 

.'  tije.r  .nstruction  d„ring_tl,e  voyage, and  Kene 
W„.do,se,  ,n  order  that  he  might  he  sohoofel  in 
tl.c  tet  „,„de  of  conveying  knowledge  to  the 
siniple-niinded  savage. 

"Huron  , lost  tlum  know  who  created  thee'>» 
l.e  sa,<l,a.ldressing  the  el.ler  of  the  two,  a  warrior 
Of  some  note,  whose  instruction  he  had  but  latelv 
connnenccd.  ^ 

"The  great  Spirit,  who  made  the  earth  and 
tl>e  waters  au,l  the  forests,"  replied   Ilaukin.ah. 
Ami,  Huron,  di,l  he  make  the  hutlalo  and  the 
houndnig  deer?" 

^^Ycs    fatlKT;   the   buffalo  and  the   bouncW 

dec-,  and  all  thinos  else  that  livP-  ^ 

3 


,%fc. 


^t- «!♦«**■ 


:'! 


2H 


THE    IS  STRUCT  ION. 


"And  (iid  he  ni:ike  thee  and  me  like  to 
tlum?" 

"Mv  latliers  tauji-ht  that  the  buffalo  and  the 
bounding-  de»  •  (h'parted  to  ^'x'  hunting-ground 
of  s[)irits  where  the  warrior's  shade  pursued 
tlieni  as  here  on  earth.  It  is  wrong.  The 
blackgown  teaelieth  that  the  great  Spirit  made 
man  like  himself,  and  breathed  his  breath  into 
his  nostrils  —  heaven  was  made  for  the  man 
wlio  doeth  good.  The  wild  beast  dies  and 
perishes." 

Father  Jean  Laval,  from  the  foundation  of 
this  simple  questioning,  took  oeeasion  to  explain 
fully  and  minutely,  and  impress  deeply  upon  the 
mind  of  those  whom  he  was  instrueting,  the  his- 
tory of  man's  creation,  and  his  destiny,  his  fall, 
and  the  promise  of  his  redemption,  fulfilled  by 
tli(^  coming,  the  passion,  and  the  glorious  death 
of  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  He  told  them  how 
man's  nature  became  corrupt  by  his  fall ;  how  he 
became  perverse  through  his  disobedience,  prone 
to  evil,  subject  to  all  tne  temptations  of  the 
devil. 

"It   is  that  which  makes  the  Iroouois  cruel 


I. 


ii*-v'wm:*m^s^^ii»mm4-. 


THE  INSTRUCTION. 


27 


and   blood-thirstv  "  «n,V]  \^^^  „ 
^'fl.o  ..  •  •.    r       .,'  .  ^  younger  neophyte; 

t'H'  spint  ol  evil  is  within  him  " 

^  ;  As  he  is  with  all  bad  n.en,  niy  son ;  a.s  ho  is 
.,1th  you  when  you  indulge  revengeful  feelin.rs 
owanls  the  Iroquois,  when  you  w^ld  do  tWm 

el   for  evil.     ^  ou  must  love  those  who  hate 
V  ou. 

"«i.all  tl.e  Huron  Jove  the  Iroquois?"  ex- 
c  annecl  the  young  warrior  as  l.is  eyes  glistened 
V.  Ii  avakcne,!  i,a.s.sio„,  and   l.is  head  tvas  olo- 

vatol.ndisdain;  "shall   the  dove  and   hawk' 
nestle  together?" 

"  Is  the  Huron  a  dove  in  his  heart  ?"  broke  in 
l.e  deep  stern  voiee  of  Almsistari;  "tl,e  ,I„ve  is 
on,  er.     The  Huron  brave  should  be  bo  d     nd 
fearless  like  the  eagle." 

J  Let  the  Huron  be  a  dove  in  his  heart,"  said 
F  er  Jean  Laval,  ere  the  young  Indian  could 
oi-on  Ins  l,,,s  agau, ;  "  let  him  be  a  dove  in  purity 

ehiefh.  '^"i'""'  ^T  '''"'''"   '^■^"'"  '•"P'iod   the 
eliief,  n.  a  changed  and  softened  tone. 


•*«-»:-<Uiaii<.i)flm;s|l<' 


1 


li 


i; 


1 ' 

, ' ' 

i 

{  ' 

28 


T/fE   IXS  TR  UCTIOy. 


"Yes,  niv  dear  children,  your  first  duty  is  to 
God,  the  great  Spirit;  your  next  is  to  your  neigh- 
bor. The  good  vSpirit  created  you  and  all  men 
to  loye  him  and  serye  him,  and  he  commands 
you  to  loyc  one  another,  even  vour  enemies ;  to 
do  good  to  those  that  hate  you.  If  the  Irocjuois 
is  tierce  and  had,  pity  him,  and  pray  tliat  he  may 
become  better, —  that  he  may  listen  to  the  mes- 
sengers  of  Christ.  If  you  hate  the  Iroquois,  in 
Ayhat  are  n-'ou  better  than  he?" 

"  It  is  good,"  said  Ahasistari,  "  it  is  like  a  God 
to  forgive." 

And  then  Father  Laval  proceeded  to  inculcate 
upon  his  hearers  the  virtues  which  were  neces- 
sary to,  and  which  adorned  the  Christian,  show- 
ing how  the  })rinciples  of  religion  were  entwined 
around  all  the  ties  of  life,  and  how  they  were 
connected  with  and  ruled  every  circumstance  of 
our  mortal  existence.  He  instructed  them  in  the 
rules  which  should  govern  them  in  their  inter- 
course with  all  men,  and  the  charity  so  sublime 
and  superhuman  which  they  should  cultivate  in 
their  hearts.  Thus  seizing  every  word  and  every 
trifling  circumstance,  he  made  them  the  occasion 


■.'imv.'!Amvi»:JMmiW'M\^ 


TIIK   lySTRVCTlny. 


29 


an.l   tI.o  vohiolo  of  useful   i„sfn,.tio„,  an.l   fl,e 
■—   "i   initiating  tl.om    i„,„   tl.o   s  -int   a  . 
..•acuo  a.s  well  as  the  docfines  „f  the  Catholic 
t  JHirch. 

0,rasi„„ally,  to   relieve   tl,<.ir  mind,   an.l    to 
break  the  eontinuous  length  of  his  instruetions, 
I.e  would  interpose  a  j.rayer,  an.l  ooenpv  hin.self 
."  teaching  them  the  responses  to  the  lit'anies  au,I 
the   prayers  of  the  rosary.     They  lis,oue.l  with 
'loo.lity   an<l  learned  with  quickness  the  portions 
a.ssigue.I  to  them,  an.l  the  warriors  seemed  to  vie 
with  each  other  in  aequirin.-  that  great  an.l  super- 
em.ncnt  knowle<lge  which  tJie  father  of  th<.  hlack- 
gowu  .iispensed  to  them.    Thriee  a  day,  morning 
noon,  and  night,  the  Jesuit  and  Rene  ]5o„rdoi.t: 
I.e  novice,  m  accordance  with  their  previously 
adopted  resolution,  recitcKl  a  portion  of  the  rosary 
to  procure,  through  the  interces-sion  of  the  mother 
"f  God   the  blessings  of  heaven  upon  their  mis- 
sion    Ahasistari  and  the  Catholic  Indians  joined 
-1   the   responses  with  devoutn-ss,  and  seeme,] 
never  to  weary   under  their  labors  while  thus 
clieered  with  the  refreshing  dew  of  prayer 


in  tins  pious  occupation  tho  r]n.-  ..o.o. 


.1  .,1 


Clio- 


1     :• 

!l 

! 

r  "*' 

f: 

111 


80 


TJf K  INSTRUCTIO iV. 


aiitly  and  quick  y  round.  Father  Laval,  each 
time  they  huided  to  prepare  their  irupil  repasts, 
assembled  the  whole  party  around  him,  ^avo 
them  a  short  instruction,  and,  havin*,^  blessed 
their  food,  sat  down  on  the  grass  with  them,  and 
shared  their  frugal  fare. 

As  night  approached,  Aliasistari  began  to  look 
about  for  a  convenient  spot  to  bivouac  upon,  and 
at  length  selected  a  beautiful  and  secluded  inden- 
ture in  the  river  banks,  shaded  by  lofty  trees,  and 
protected  and  rendered  almost  impenetrable  from 
the    land   by    the    thick    undergrowth,  reaching 
some  distance  back  from  the  shore.     Here  they 
landed,  and,  drawing  up  their  canoes  upon   the 
bank,    prepared    to    pass    the    night    upon    the 
spot.     After  their  evening  meal  had  been  dis- 
patched, Father  Laval  was  about  to  commence 
an  instruction  or  exhortation  to  his  companions, 
when   Ahasistari   approached   him    respectfully, 

and  said : 

''My  fiither,  the  Molmvk  may  be  abroad;  his 

ear  is  quick  ! " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  better,"  said  Father  Laval,  car- 
rying out  the  thought  of  the  other,  without  re- 


.•r5-^-«Mr^ti«?»»«aK<, 


THE    IXSTIirCTl 


oy. 


31 


I'ly.nK   ,lir,.,,ly    ,„    |,i,    ,,„„,,. 

"'wlKato  in  m|,.,„,,  „„  „,,.,,         ',      '">    ''"''Iwi, 

drive  sSr^?  '"  '?  '""^"■""  "''^"'••'t«l  to 

"7*".  '"*'•  '^""»  '"B  eyelids  until  nature  slionM 

.nk  ,„to  unconsciousness  fron,  e.vl,a      ,"„        U 

he  lay  wakeful  and  a,.,,rel,cnsive,  l,c  t^      d  i 

bHgl.t  gleam  fron,   *tl  •'      ^'^''''^'"""■''"y   a 

lighten  !,n  tl  '^''"""^  ''"^'"«  ^^""'J 

g''ten  up  ti.e  picturesque  figure  of  ti.e  Indian 

Ti.e  wamor  sat  at  the  foot  of  a  tr^e  rest  , 
liead  upon  iiis  hand  in  o  „      i  '  '*^*'''"ff  ''is 

seemed  to  H  1  '"''■'''"^  """"«.  which 

seemed  to  the  young  novice  to  be  tiie  atti  u<le  of 

one  wrapt  in  thought  and  contc„,pU  "!."'''  '^ 


A  I 


T^ 


••ilW*" 


11      ^ 


32 


Til  E   IXS  Tli  U  C  TIO  X. 


h\ 


I 


histari  was  inoditatinj^ ;  Imt  every  outward  sense 
was  <»n  the  alert,  '•a«,^er  to  eateli  the  sli<;htest 
sound  or  motion  on  tlie  forest  or  upon  the  niur- 
inurin--  river.  The  stars  were  h)okin},'  down 
from  heaven  sweetly  and  tenderly,  sheddiui^  a 
dim  li^da  upon  the  movin<^  waters,  whose  broken 
surface  rcfleeted  the  countless  pencils  of  li^ht  in 
myrirvd  forms  of  quivering  beauty.  Over  the 
d('ep  silence  of  the  forest,  broken  only  by  those 
mysterious  voices  of  the  ni^dit  which  render  the 
solitude  more  profound,  was  faintly  heard  th.e 
murmurino:  of  the  waten  on  the  shore;  so  faintly 
that  ihe  listening  ear  could  scarce  distinguish 
between  the  almost  audible  stillness  of  the  grove 
and  the  low  music  of  the  living  but  unruflled 
stream.  The  air  was  mild  and  calm.  It  was  a 
night  to  worshi})  God  in. 

The  hours  passed,  and  the  motionless  form  of 
the  watching  Indian  seemed  to  the  dull  and  clos- 
ing eye  of  the  novice  to  swell  into  gigantic  size, 
and  then  to  shrink  and  fade  away  to  nothingness 
until,  in  the  imperceptible  sinking  of  his  senses 
under  fatigue  and  slumber,  the  beauteous  scene 
around  him  passed  from  before  his  closed  orbs, 


■ii'  ' 


riiK  I  y  STRUCT  I  OK.  33 

'"><   .^Iioij  (I,.,.      \.    ,..  '*    '""''•"I   upon 

'  '"•     Jt   wan   not   vet   <Imv    l,..f 
I>''<'para(  «,M    |,.,j   ..i       ,     ,     -^         '.^'   '"'^    every 

"">nK.„f   ,|„.  .1,         • ,  ""'"■"'^'■">  "n'il    <l.e  last 

">"n.inf;  ,1,.  oils         r  ,'•■"■"    '•"'•''"■'""I    lii« 

J'=.tl.o,.  L.  ..  1        ,         ."'T'"  "  "••'■^  '^"""■'-<'- 

■ »ir.i,„„i,,    *1 ,:  :"  '  '•"  """'"i" 

with" 


th 


verge  of  tlie  henw  .c:,hnr1 


feepii 


iin 


icioiwv.o  oi  liie  ov 


erliaiig- 


T 


84 


T II  /;  /  s  sTii  rrrio  x. 


iu^  w()()<ls,  and  juirsuin^  their  ('(mrso  rapidly 
and  siicijtlv  towards  tlw  new  fort  of  Montreal. 
Krc  tlio  day  dawiud,  tl.oy  had  pnxrcchil  many 
miles  ujjoii  their  journey,  when,  strikin<^  dee|)er 
into  the  current,  the  eanoes  «lrew  out  in  a  more 
extended  line,  and  eontinued  on  their  course. 


>»): 


■■.-^••.■psrttilfftft-im-aflttf 


en  A  I' TE  It   /K 

A-KIIIT    UI-OX    TIIK    WATF.nx. 

[KVKltAI.  ,Iavs  ,vor,.  l,a|,,,i|y  p,,^,„,  ;„ 

elus  n,an„rr,  ai,<l,  ur(|,„„j,|,  n,,,  ,„,,      „^^ 

of  tlie  party  l.a.l  Ikx-..  r<.„„lar,  tl„..l«.li„. 

ng  Mu,  of  th.,  fourth  day  f.-.„ul  tl.on,  Itill  .lis.a.t 

f.om  (he  «  ,olf,.ri„g  walLs  of  Montrra!.     As  tlu'v 

^vere  now  „,  ,1.,,,  n.ost  .lan^erous  portion  of  their 

passage  hot.ocn  the  two  forts,  it  was  .K,<.r,,.i„el 
ot  to   a„,i,  but  to  continue  ,h..ir  vova,..  ,h,ring 

tt  S'  / "'"  /"•"'"■^  ^••''■"■'"■'^  ™'-'"  -'"-  »t 

c  pa,  .lie,  an.l  .„atel,i„,,  a  n,on,en.'.s  repose 
V  ule  he  eanoos  pro,.ee,lo,l  .slowlv,  and  vi  h 
<)iMnnishe<l  force,  up  the  river 

.Strefhin.^  ,l,e„,selves  upon'  the  ho.tou,  of  the 

canoes    l.a,I.W,avol  and   m.ne  ].,u,,oise  pre 

-red  to  slcp,  haviu.  eonnnitted  ,hen,selve    ,0 

-^-•■-  "uvice   iiiui   aircady 
35 


t  ■*<..»44-«l<*<  -■#♦>•  «•- 


30 


A' ic HT  r /•  n y  Til i:  w.\  r k k s. 


I 


booonio  ill  a  manner  m'<'imtntiH'<I  to  tlic  n<tvrlty 
of  Ills  situation,  and  its  (hmpT  iVom  familiarity 
Im'lmm    to    lose   tlic    tcrmr  ulii«'li    it    luul    at    first 

1M)SS< '>>«'(  I. 

Sleep  snnti  cld^rd  Iiis  ('ves,  for  Ilis  heart  \\;ls 
jMire,  iiixl  lie  lia<l  Iearne<l  tn  l(»ok  on  (le:itli  too 
\u\v^  ill  tlie  stern  trainin;.''  of  the  Christian  sohlier 
to  dread  his  approach,  come  apparcHcd  as  lio 
mi;iht. 

I'Aer  refh-etinir  upon  life,  the  Jesuit  is  tauj/ht 
to  look  to  its  last  end,  to  value  it  as  a  means, 
worthless  in  itself,  priceless  when  laid  down  to 
pur<-l  '  immortal  hliss.  Death  has  no  pan;j;s 
for  him  ;  for  him  it  can  not  sever  any  earthly 
ties;  the  only  tie  that  hinds  him  to  this  earth 
leads  throu!::h  the  portals  of  the  tond)  to  heaven. 
Those  <;ates,  to  most  men  so  dark  and  gloomy, 
are  hut  the  triumphal  arch  through  which  he 
»hall  pass  when  the  vi<'tory  over  sin  and  hell  is 
won  for  hire.  Constant  meditation  has  cooled 
his  passions,  stemmed  their  rajud  flow,  and 
tauirht  him  well  the  utter  worthlessness  of 
earthly  priiU;  and  ])leasures  and  possessions. 
lie  follows  the  command  of  the  Saviour  to  the 


MdiiT  I  r(t\  rut:  wwtkks. 

youth   who   sought    (he    rule   of  iMif, 


37 


hfrips    hi/u>rjr  of  cmthlv    rirlu's       J I 
tl 


|M  rN'<(i,»n.      Hi, 


'«•«>  to  jro  i;„.,|,  „j„,„  ,|„.  ^^.,,,.,j^  uithout  statl'or 
K«Tip  or  raiinn.t,  to  <h>  (^mI's  work,  pr.parcl  fur 
Iir<-or.h-a(h,  ill  obnliriMr  to  tlu;  will  of  hi.  .livi„o 
Ma>t<'r. 

(almlyaiKl  Mvcctly,  tnislin^r  Jn  the  loviii^r  care 
of  the  iiK.tlicr  iiiKJcr  whose  iM.wcrful  iiitrrccssion 
h«'  had  plactMJ  hiinM-lf,  th.-  iiovi.c  .s,I,.j,t  tlic  shcp 
of  youth.     Soft  tones,  old  aiul  fond  n  nicruhraures, 
k I lul  voices  and  finniliar  i.a.ac's  scH'ined  once  more 
to  luin^de  in  his  sluiubcring  sense,  with  the  li;rht 
iiniriuur  of  the  ripplin^r  wave  and  the  low  niirsic 
of  the  zephyr  that  limned  his  eheek.      Dear  faces 
Ix-anied  upon  him.      lie  sat  a^rain  heside  tlie  well- 
worn   and  familiar  hearth,  and   his  ^n-ay-haired 
father  smile<l  onee  more  upon   the  son   he  loved 
the  son  of  his  old  a;re  vowed  to  the  serviee  of  his 
Cod.      For  such   wius  tho  youthful   Ivene :    from 
diildhood   dedicated  to  the  altar,  breathin<r   the 
pure  atmosphere  of  its  unpolluted  i)reeinets,  con- 
scious even  in  his  father's  house  and  in  his  early 
years  of  the  solemn  duty  which   lay  before  him 
for  liis  future  life.     Sweetly  came  the  recollection 


A 


ir 


^u.n-iM<3i' J4:(i^iu  iiiiiii  «l^> 


M 


71 


38 


NiailT    WON  THE    WATERS. 


of  iiis  childhood's  homo,  and  those  dear  ohl  faces, 
w'  '  'heir  heaining  smiles,  melting  from  beneath 
th:  rosts  of  years  of  stern  study  and  deep  holv 
meditation  which  had  schooled  his  heart  into 
liigher,  nohler  thought,  of  sweeter,  purer  love  — 
love  to  the  Father  of  all  fathers,  enfrrossin«r  and 
sublimating  all  true  love  in  his  young  heart. 
But  now  in  dreams  fondly  retracing  many  a  thou- 
sand league,  and  many  a  toilsome  year,  the  human 
s])irit,  true  to  its  human  nature,  hack  to  its  old 
alVections  and  its  mortal  ties  went  hurrvino- — 
but  not  forwtful  of  its  own  heavenly  destiny.  It 
was  pure  happiness,  pure  infantile  joy,  such  as  in 
childhood  he  had  felt  —  for  now  it  seemed  to  him 
that  once  again  he  was  a  child  —  a  thoughtless, 
gay,  and  cheerful  child  — without  a  care,  without 
a  fear,  with  no  responsibility  and  with  no  feeling 
but  of  the  present  moment.  The  w/iters  of  the 
flowing  river  murmured  in  his  ear,  and  fiincy 
broke  the  changeless  sound  into  some  sweet  old 
melody  once  sung  to  him  by  fond  maternal  lips. 
The  light  but  quivering  stroke  of  the  bending 
paddle,  swaying  the  fragile  bark,  and  its  soft  and 


crpiiflp    iiinfinn    n«    if    onf    flio    wnfnra     rrvnL-n/1    V>iir> 

i_>  "'       ■"      '  ■       •^•'■VV!--^     r  -.--.• 


s  2  r  I  T  5 


•.-.n-.^-.  J'«»1!«*SJ|^»I%3««P^  ^ 


NIGHT    WON   THE    WATERS. 


39 


i 


sweetly  till  he  lay  like  an  infant  slumbering,'  on 
its  mother's  breast.  Thus  slept  the  youthful 
novice. 

Father  Laval  had  more  care  upon  liis  mind, 
and  it  was  long  before  he  gave  way  to  the  weari- 
ness that  hung  upon  his  eyelids.  He  felt  that 
the  criti.al  hour  had  arrived;  for  if  the  oomj)any 
once  reached  Montreal,  and  commenced  to  ascend 
the  Ottawa,  there  was  less  dan^rer  of  beino-  at- 
tacked  by  a  force  more  powerful  than  their  own. 
At  length  he  too  composed  himself  to  slumber, 
confiding  himself  to  the  protection  of  an  all- 
seeing  God. 

As  leader  of  the  party,  Ahasistari,  insensible 
to  fatigue  when  the  safety  of  his  charge  might 
be  at  issue,  watched  all  night.  To  ihe  enduring 
nature  of  the  Indian  this  >vas  little,  and  his  band 
only  souglit  occasional  re^jose,  in  order  that  a 
portion  might  be  fresh  and  prepared  for  any 
event.  From  the  bow  of  his  canoe,  which  had 
drawn  from  the  rear  to  the  head  of  the  line,  the 
chief  scanned,  with  keen  and  watchful  eye,  either 
shore  of  the  river  as  they  ascended.     But  all 

nafiirp  filAnf    qh/I  if  c^cu^n^r^A  ^.^  C^  ...r^u i. , 


-^iii-ii^yi  iii3im-ii^* 


I:  i 


40 


NIGHT    UPON    THE    WATERS. 


tlu?  fell  licart  of  inau  was  at  rest.  No  mark  or 
trace  of  an  enemy  met  his  eye;  for  even  in  the 
dim  liglit  of  the  stars  the  won<h-()us  sense  of  an 
Indian  warrior  might  dete(;t  tlic  presence  of  liis 
foe,  and  the  slightest  sonnd,  the  breaking  of  a 
twig  miglit  be  lieard  in  the  stilhiess  of  the  honr 
over  the  nnirmuring  waters.  13ut  all  things  were 
silent,  and  the  chief  began  to  hope  that  perhaps 
no  ^lohawks  were  ont-lyiny:  alonL"*  the  river,  and 
that  their  passage  wonld  be  made  without  diffi- 
culty or  danger.  But  l)e  did  not  become  less 
watchful. 

At  length  the  dark  starlit  canopy  began  to 
lighten  up  faintly  towards  the  east.  Dim  and 
almost  imperceptible  was  the  first  precursor  of 
the  dawn,  merely  %  lesser  darkness.  Thus  it 
passed  for  many  minutes,  making  the  summits 
of  the  far  hills  sharper  and  more  distinct,  and 
shrouding  the  lower  forest  in  deeper  gloom. 
Gradually  the  view  became  more  distinct,  and 
a  quick  eye  might  barely  trace  the  forms  of  na- 
ture. The  canoes  were  now  approaching  a  nar- 
rower portion  of  the  river,  and  Ahasistari  be- 
came more  watchful  than  before.     At  length  his 


r>-f.>.«fftf<  rinin  i"ni»mi9>M'iWiif^ 


XIGIIT    UPOX   THE    }y  ATE  Its.  41 

eye  seemed  to  fix  upon  a  portion  of  the  forest 
that   overhung  the    river  above   them   on   their 
route  — then    he   raised  it   up   towards    the  sky 
above  the  woods.     The  serutiny  did  not  seem  to 
satisfy  him,  and,  guiding  the   canoe   from    the 
shore  so  as  to  bring  the  object  more  to  the  liglit, 
he  watched  it  as  the  barks  moved  on.     The  war- 
riors in  the  rearward  canoes  observed  the  motion, 
but  with    apparent    indifference   still    urged    on 
their  frail  vessels,  knowing  the  skill  and  cool- 
ness of  their  leader.     In  a  little  while  the  motion 
of  the  canoe  brought  the  top  of  that  portion  of 
the  forest  opposite  a  bright  clear  star,  and  across 
Its  face  for  a  single  instant  came  a  dimness  like 
that  caused  by  a  thin,  wiry  column  of  smoke  or 
vapor. 

"  Ugh  !  "  exclaimed  the  chief  in  the  deep  gut- 
tural tone  peculiar  to  the  Indian,  and,  with  a 
sudden  motion  of  his  paddle,  he  sent  the  canoe 
whirhng  in  towards  the  southern  shore  under  the 
shadows  of  the  hills.  Then,  staying  its  progress, 
lie  crouched  close  to  diminish  the  risk  of  obser- 
vation by  any  wandering  eye  that  might  be  upon 

the  shore.      ITie  ovorv^^.i^  _.•!_    ^i      /.  n 

-_-iiiiii^;i^  -,viio  biiciiuy  loiioweci. 

4  *  ^  ^•; 


I 


42 


NIGHT    UPON   THE    WATERS. 


and  soon  the  line  of  canoes  lay  within  tlic  vcrgo 
of  the  dork  shadows,  motionless  and  seemingly 
unocdipied.  Not  a  qnestion  v.as  asked  :  no  anx- 
iety or  curiosity  Wius  manifested;  tiie  warriors 
cohlly  and  impassively  awaited  the  moiions  of 
their  chief. 

Tlie  keen  eye  of  Ahasistari  still  scanned  tlie 
forest  with  quick  and  suspicious  glances,  when  a 
slight  sound  struck  upon  his  ear:  it  seemed  like 
the  snapping  of  a  twig  beneath  a  light  and  cau- 
tious tread.  The  sound  was  very  faint,  but  it 
did  not  escape  the  ear  of  a  single  warrior,  the 
youngest  and  least  practised.  The  Jesuit,  Avho 
lay  in  the  canoe  of  the  leader,  began  to  turn  un- 
easily in  his  sleep,  affected  by  the  change  fi'oni 
motion  to  rest,  and  his  breathing  seemed  to  grow 
louder  in  the  stillness  of  things  around.  Aha- 
sistari pointed  with  his  finger  to  the  sleeping 
missionary,  and  Haukimah,  the  neophyte,  stooped 
down  low  over  the  good  father,  and  gently  laid 
his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  In  a  moment  Fa- 
ther Laval  opened  his  eyes  with  a  slight  start, 
but  the  low  "  hist ! "  and  the  finger  of  the  neo- 
phyte pressed  upon  his  lips,  indistinctly  visible 


»wi'?«r«!S«e^w»«Bi®[^ 


KIOIIT    UPON   THE    WATERS.  43 

in   the  gray   light,  iinmodiatolv  recalled  hini  to 
consciousness.     A  single  glance  enabled  him  to 
catch  at  least  a  general  idea  of  the  situation  of 
affairs,  and  raising  his  heart  in  praver,  he  awaited 
with  resignation  the  end,  whatsoever  it  might  be. 
Similar  was  the  awakening  of  Jienc  Bourdoise. 
llio  young  novice  had  sooner  fallen  into  a  deep 
and  refreshing  slum})er,  and  the  first  eheckincr  of 
the  speed  of  the  canoe  had  startled  him,  and'  its 
ceasing  had  aroused  him.     Observing  the  state  of 
preparation  around  him,  his  young  French  blood 
fiery  yet  in  spite  of  its  long  training  to  suppress 
such  worldly  feeling,  began  to  glow  as  he  thought 
that  the  enemies  of  France  and  foes  of  his  re- 
ligion might  perhaps  be  at  tliat  moment  lyin«- 
within  reach,  and  that  battle  between  man  ^and 
man,  in  which  he  durst  bear  no  part,  might  soon 
take  place  before  his  eyes.     It  wa.s  not  without 
an  effort  that  he  succeeded  in  restraining  these 
feelings,  and  giving  himself  up  to  the  weapons 
ot  prayer  and  humiliation  of  spirit.     A  young 
bright,  glowing  heart  had  Rene  Bourdoise.    \Va- 
took,  his  pupil,  who  sat  by  his  side,  observed  the 
mental  suuggle  of  the  young  ecclesiastic,  and 


44 


N IG  IIT    U 1'  O  \    r  II  /•;    WAT  E  R  .V . 


marked  tlio  sparkliiii:;  of  liis  oyc,  aiid  liis  heart 
swelled  with  a  deejuT  aflectioii  as  he  beheld  the 
siilxliied  workintj^s  of  the  noble  spirit  within. 

*'  Will  the  voun<^  blaekiz-own  share  W'atook's 
weapons?"  he  .said  in  a  low  whisper;  "  Watook 
has  a  keen  and  jiolished  knife,  and  his  carabine 
is  snre  —  thev  shall  be  his  brother's.  Watook 
will  use  the  wea[)ons  of  his  people."  As  he 
spoke,  the  jren'/rous  yonn<ij  warrior  drew  the  knife 
from  his  belt,  anti  tent'ered  the  arms  to  the  young 
noviee. 

A  deep  blush  sufTused  the  fine  f:i'"^  of  Rene 
Bourdoise.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  what  feel- 
in*j:  most  predominateil  in  the  inward  strug^^le, 
and  sent  the  evidenee  of  shame  tiuirlinir  to  his 
eheek ;  whether  w;ls  it  the  manhood  and  the 
spirit  of  flesh  yet  unsubdued  within  him,  that 
seorned  to  aet  like  a  woman  when  the  strife 
should  come,  and  yet  durst  not  reeeive  the  prof- 
fered weapons  which  nuist  remain  so  idle  in  his 
hands ;  or  was  it  a  conscious  shame  that  his  de- 
meanor, fori^etful  of  the  bearing  of  the  Christian 
messeriger  of  love  and  faith,  had  awakened  in 
the  heart  of  the  sa\'age  such  thoughts  as  caused 


■i-i--  ^-^W-.^??""!!*?!* 


^' / a II T  rpoy  t ii k  mm  7  /- r ^. 


45 


Iiis  oIKt,   when   lie  sliould   Ikivo  1 
\\\i\\   silent   prayer  and 


)oon  preparing 
resii^niation    to   win    his 


martyrs  eronn  ?     He  gazed    npc.n   the  weapons 
for  a   moment,   hut   the  t 
amidst  silene 
ior  the  im 


raining  of   the   novice 


itKl  contemplation,  was  too  stron"- 


aside,  he  said 


pulse  of  the  i)assions,  and  nuttiiiL'  th 


em 


a  I 


Jvee 


p  your  arms,  my  brother!     They  would 
be  useless  in  niy  hands ;  I  know  not  how  to  wield 
them.     I  am  a  man  of  peace.     None  vowed  to 
the  service  of  the  altar  may  stain  their  hands  in 
human  blood,  but  must  submit  to  the  trials  which 
are  given  them.     Oh,  my  /ather !  '^  l,e  continued 
mentally,  ''  who  readest  all  hearts,  forgive  the  sin- 
ful thoughts  which  carried  me  away,  and  stirred 
up  the  evil  of  my  nature;"  and  bowing  down 
his  head,  he  sat  composed   and  motionless,  not 
less  the  wonder  than  the  admiration  of  the  young 
man,  who  saw  that  fear  had  nothing  to  do  with 
conduct,  to  him,  hitherto  little  acquainted  with 
the  missionaries,  so  inexplicable. 

As  the  canoes  swung  in  towards  the  shore,  im- 
pelled by  an  occasional  stroke  of  the  paddle,  the 

current",    hnro     fhont     crki^^t^nrlw^^     1 _..      i        „     .1 


46 


NiailT    LTOX    THE    WATERS. 


t 


river.     TIjo  dosoMit  was  cv'ulcnt  ;    lor   the  trees 
uiMUi  the  Iniiik  seemed  slowly  to  pass  by  them,  us 
it   were,  ^ivin<;   the   appearance   of    rest    to   the 
canoes.     The  Indians  did  not  endeavor  to  keep 
them  on  their  former  conrse,  hut  permitted  them 
to  drop  f^ently  do  vn  the  stream.     Father  Laval 
kept  his  eye  intently  fixed  ui>on  the  forest;  but 
lie  found   it  diineiilt   to  penetrate   the  darkness 
which  shrouded  it.     The  eanoes  had  now  reached 
a  point  where  the  underwood  was  not  so  thick  as 
that  above,  and  where  there  was  little  danger  of 
an  ambush.     Ahasistari  again  emitted  a  low  ex- 
clamation, and  pointed  towards  an  open  part  of 
the  forest.     The  eye  of  Father  Laval  followed 
the  direction,  and  up  the  stream,  in  the  rear  of 
the  heavy  underwood,  he  caught  a  momentary 
glimpse  of  the  dying  embers  of  a  tire.     The  thick 
trunk  of  a  tree  in  the  next  instant  concealed  it 
from  his  sight.     There  was  no  sign  of   life  or 
motion  near  it  or  around  it.     He  again  assumed 
his  place  at  the  bottom  of  the  canoe,  from  which 
he  had  raised  himself  to  look  around.     The  eye 
of  the  chief  was  now  turned  upon  the  portion  of 
ii,.  *;.„oqt  imm'^diatelv  before  them,  and  he  held 


-.■-»-««.r-t. 


47 


y  I  a  II T  r  r  o  x  r  ii  k  w  a  t  k  r  s  . 

a  roiisiilt.ition  in  low  toiu«s  witli  the  olil 
by  Ills  side. 

Haukimjil',  the  tmil  is  tluiv,"  \w  said, 
inir  to  a  s])ot   which  slviiuhI   to  the  Jesuit,  who 
a«;aiii  raised    lis  head  as  tl»e  chief  spoke,  to  pre- 


<( 


warrior 


point- 


sent  no  marks  Uy  which  to  distinguish   it  i 


tlje  haidvs  al 


roni 


)ove  o 


r  l)el 


ow  it. 


n 


Yes,  die  M(,iiawk  has  left  it  hroad — 


peese  niidit  follow 


a  veri- 


111  ul*- 


ii 


>) 


in  it:   the  Mohawl 


iv  IS  cun- 


>ear 


)> 


^  He  isu  wolf,  hut  he  leaves  his  trail  likoa  1 

The  old    Indian  shook   his   head   doubtingl^., 
and,  after  a  moment's  pause,  replied : 

''The  Iroquois  can  hide  his  trail  if  he  will  :  — 

he  is  strong,  he  has  left  a  broad  trail 
a  IT,.  •  1  o  ... 


}f 


He  is  M'cak  ;  a  fb.x  making  the  tmil  of 


Avolves  to  frighten  the  hunter !     It'l 


m 


he 


would  lie  hid  like  tl 


my 
le  werestronar 


the  passing  elk 


y* 


le  panther  who  springs  on 


a 


H 


e  is  not  waiting  for  his  prey:  he  has  strick 


it  near  the   wigwams  of  the   pale-l 


en 


aee,  and  has 


borne  it  away.     He  is  strong  and  feai-s  not  pur- 


suit :  his  fire  is  burn 


Haukimah  pointed  towards  tl 


ngout;  he  has  gone;"  and 


W»     COllfl 


48 


xiaiiT  ri'()\  THE  waters. 


It  <li<l  not  sciMii  improlMiblc  tliat  tlic  party  of 
Mohawks  had  p:u^st'<l  (H»  by  that  route  (hiring  tl»o 
ni"ht.  h'aviPLT  tlicir  caiMn-liri'  bcliiiwl  them  uiu-x- 
tiii;;uish('<l,  and  tlicir  trail  so  broad  us  to  m';^itiv« 
tho  idea  of  an  ambush  at  that  spot  ;  yet  tlic  cliirt* 
dctorniini'd  to  riconnoitro  more  ( loscly  lu-tbre  he 
vt'iitnrcd  to  pass  onwards  in  trout  oi'  the  suspi- 
cious spot,  iind  tluis  expose  his  party  to  the  eer- 
tiiinty  of  discovery  and  pursuit. 

Tlie  b»rht  had  ab'eadv  become  more  distinct, 
and  the  marks  about  whicli  the  warriors  diflered 
l>ecame  at  hist  visibU'  to  Fatlier  L:ival  liimself, 
thouirli,  liad  not  liis  attention  ln'cn  directed  to  tlio 
si)ot,  he  couhl  not  have  discovered  their  existence. 
Tlie  h)W  bushes  on  the  edu;e  of  the  water  were 
disphiced  and  l)euten  down,  th()U<;li  portions 
seemed  as  if  carefully  replaced,  while  the  under- 
wood above  on  the  hiijjher  portion  of  the  bank, 
which  extended  u|)wards  ii  few  feet  from  the  sur- 
face ol'the  water,  presented  on  their  lower  branches 
bent  and  broken  bouirhs  and  torn  leaves,  as  if 
done  l)V  the  jjjrasp  of  persons  carelessly  ascending. 
The  canoes  still  continued  to  near  the  shore,  and 
were  kept  by  the  occasional  stroke  of  the  paddle 


NIGHT    VVOS    THE    WATK/iS. 


49 


froru  (Icscorulin^'  fartluT  down  tlic  nirront.     Tlioy 
were  now   within   a   very   short   distanw  of  tlic 
l)anl<,  hnt  it  wan  inipossihU;  in  <h's(;ov(T  there  the 
least  evi(h'nce    of  life  or   m(»tion,   and    the  two 
Frenehnien   hej^an    to   ('(.intort    themselves   with 
the  relleetion  that  the  Indians  ha<l  departed,  and 
that  nothing  was  to  U?  apprehended.     The  Ifu- 
rons,   however,   were    still    silent    and   watchful, 
cautiously  concealing  as  much  of  their  bodies  as 
they  ccMild    in    their   canoes.     The   chief    again 
turned,  and  spoke  in  a  low  tone  to  Ilaukimah. 
"How  many  does  my  brother  count  upon  the 
sand  ?  "  and  he  pointed  to  the  bank  at  the  edge 
of  the  water. 

The  old  warrior  held  up  three  fingers. 
"  Yes,  there  were  but  three  canoes  of  them  " 
said  Ahasistari ;  "  there  is  nothing  to  fear." 

Father  Laval  looked  in  wonder  for  indications 
from  which  the  warriors  had  drawn  their  conclu- 
sion, but  in  vain.  To  the  Indian  they  were  plain 
enough.  It  seemed  that  the  Mohawks,  if  Mo- 
hawks they  were,  had  proceeilcd  with  an  utter 
disregard  of  the  usual  precautions  which  Indians, 
especially   in   an 


lonT 


r>r»i 


D 


'£'lCi4     ttr 


60 


.V  ic  iiT  r  I'o  v   r //  /•;    u  i  /•  h n s. 


concoal   thrir  pall..     ()„   tl.r  sin. I   ili.-  prints  of 
IiKMrasiiKMl    i;.rt    urn-   .sf.,nip,.|    .l.rply,    l>tit    uoiv 
scanvly  pcncplil.Ir  in  (|,r  .lim  li^lii  ;  'a,i<l  in  tl.nv 
plans,    rl(..s(.    t.»;;rfli(r,    (h,.    indniMiiTs    nia'ic    hy 
tin;  Im)\v  of  a  «'an<M',  (•air!r»iy  «lrM;r.r,.,l   In.ni   the 
vvatrr,   w,Mv   iiMlistiiutly  seen.      \\liil>(    tl.c   two 
cliicls    more  closely   cxaniiiKd    the  sin. re  to  dis- 
coviT  if  any  di'ccj.tidn  wen'  pr:icti.<(.,|  i,p,,„  tliciii, 
the  caiioc  in  nl.i<li  the  iio\  i,v  was  placed  shot  up 
towards   tlictn,  aiul    tlic  youn<r    Indian    ^"ntouk, 
utterin^r  a  hiss  like  that  of  the  watcr-siiaUc,— so 
hkc,  that  Father  Laval  involuntarily  started  with 
<lis^nistat  tlu'scrniin^r  pn,xiniity  of  the  imaginary 
rc.])til(',— oxdainuMJ,  ''The  Mohawk!" 

Kvcry  vya  fi.ih.wcd  the  direction  of  his  ox- 
tcndcd  hand,  and  at  the  njoinent  a  dusky  form 
uas  seen  darting  rapidly  from  one  tree  to  another, 
lower  down  and  nearer  the  eanoes.  An  instant 
after  a  wild  yell  broke  from  the  forest;  the  Hash 
of  riHes  lit  up  its  dark  shades  and  gleamed  upon 
the  waters;  a  cloud  of  arrows  rattled  down  upon 
them,  and  half  stilled  groans  ar..se  from  the 
eanoes.  Every  shot  came  from  above,  none  as 
yet  from  the  forest  in  front  or  below  the  canoes. 


\/(;j/r  I  j'()\  Tin:   wathus.        51 

Xouc  \V!H  n  liirii<<l.  (  ,>x«T('«l  with  d.'nsc  siiiokc, 
ami  rniicralr.l  ir  tlnir  covcrfs,  the  iiii'^n'n  loo 
WiMiM  Invc  Mililird  littlr  j'nuii  (he  liir  of  tlio 
cnii.M's  li.id  tliry  n-tmiicd  it.  Tlic  iiinmciit  that 
thr  yell  hrokc  <uit,  I-'athrr  Laval  Hit  the  li^rht. 
l)nat  sprin^r  sinhlcnly  in  the  \vat«'r,  iiii|K'11('<I  l»y 
thf  jM>\\«Tfiil  arms  of  th(;  Ilm-niis,  wlio  >tcnilv 
aii<l  silcnily  Ix'iit  to  tlicir  paiMlcs,  hopin.^  to 
rcarli  a  <ov('r,  and  make  .sucrcssCul  (Icf'cncc. 
'J'Ijc  <li>cov«rv,  the  war-crv,  and  thr  rattliii"- 
volhy  t'oHowcd  each  other  almost  instantaneous- 
ly ;  hilt  the  impidsc  to  th(3  lit^ht  harks  had  been 
so  (piiek  and  stronj^r  that,  ere  the  volley  pealed, 
tln'y  had  cleared  half  the  space  towards  the  shore. 
It  was  a  fortunate  movement;  the  rapidity  of 
their  pro«rress  had  rendered  the  aim  of  their 
amhushed  foes  uncertain,  with  the  <-lunisy  and 
unsure  weapons  with  which  the  Dutch  of  New 
York  scantily  furnished  them  in  their  trade. 
But  the  speed  of  the  canoe  began  to  relax, 
broken  paddles  floate<l  in  the  water,  and  the 
Indians  who  had  borne  them  crouched  low, 
grasping  their  arms,  and  watching  intently  for 
some  object,  lieatl,  leg,  or  arm,  to  aim  at.     The 


62 


NIGHT    UPON   THE    WATERS. 


N^ 


..;  t 


Jc«uit  felt  tlic  water  slowly  rising  arouiul  his 
feet  — the  canoe  was  riddled,  and  was  filling  Sist. 
Little  better  was  the  fate  of  the  rest.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  foe  had  aimed  principally  at  the  canoes, 
as  if  to  prevent- escape,  and,  liad  all  their  shots 
taken  effect,  they  must  liave  sunk  at  once. 

It  was  a  moment  of  intense  anxiety,  —  death 
from  the  ambush,  death  from  the  wave,  wjis 
before  them  and  around.  It  was  doubtful 
wdiether  they  could  reach  the  shore.  In  the 
midst  of  danger  tliere  was  one  thought  more 
painful  to  the  Jesuit  than  the  thought  of  death. 
There  were  those  around  him  who  had  not  yet 
been  baptized,  and  with  agony  he  reflected  that 
each  pealing  shot,  eaoh  hissing  shaft,  might  send 
one  of  these  unfortunate  children  of  the  forest, 
unwashed  from  the  dark  stain  of  sin,  to  the 
presence  of  his  God.  The  shot  that  every 
instant  whistled  around  him  had  no  terrors  for 
him :  the  deep  responsibility  of  human  souls  was 
upon  him. 

The  old  warrior  Haukimah  sat  motionless 
before  him.  His  head  was  rested  on  his  hand, 
his  rifle  lay  across  his  knee— he  looked  steadily 


U 


"tM-.'^^'tremm^^    _\ 


NIGHT    U P  0  X    THE    WA  TERS. 


53 


in  the  face  of  the  priest,  and  marked  with  deep 
concern  the  pain  whicli  shot  across  his  features. 
The  lnintin<^-sliirt  of  tlie  warrior  was  (h'ipping 
with  blood,  yet  no  sij^n  of  pain  escaped  him,  hut 
a  wistful  glance  lingered  upon  his  face  as  he  iixed 
his  eyes  upon  the  countenance  of  the  Jesuit. 

"You  are  wounded?"  said  Fatlici-  I..aval. 

The  Indian  slowly  and  somewhat  painfully 
bowed  his  head. 

"  Vnd  seriously  —  it  is  near  your  heart!"  con- 
tinued the  priest. 

'^Haukimah's  last  fight  is  fought,"  replied  the 
Indian  patiently :  "  he  will  go  to  the  spirit-land." 

"And,  alas!  you  have  not  yet  been  baptized." 

"  I  have  sought  it — I  wait!" 

"  Yes,  it  has  been  delaytxl  that  you  might  be 
further  instructed:  you  have  been  instructed  —  it 
can  be  delaved  no  Ioniser." 

A  faint  smile  of  joy  passed  over  the  stern  fea- 
tures of  the  wou.ided  man,  and  their  look  of  fixed 
determination  relaxed  into  a  softer  expression. 

"  It  is  good,"  he  said,  quietly. 

-    "  Do  you  repent  for  all  your  offences  against 

the  good  Spirit?" 
5* 


( 


itj 


.^fft  NIGHT    UPON    THE    MATEIiS. 

"I  l.avo  ever  loved  iiii.i;  if  1  luive  ofTeiKled,  I 
am  sorrv,"  he  said  ihintly. 

There  Mas   no   si)aee  for   furtlier  questioniiKr, 
and  the  ir,nn\  priest  arose,  his  iarge  form  presei.t- 
1"^  a  fhir  mark  to  the  foe;  Iieedless  of  dan^rer   ho 
.stooped  and  filled  his  hand  with  water  from'the 
river,  and  pouring  it  upon  the  upraised  forehead 
of  the  warrior,  pronounced  the  holy  and  mvstic 
Avords  of  the  sacrament.     The  eye  of  the  dying 
iiKlian  again  lit  up  — a  joyous  smile  passed  once 
more   across    his    features;    liis    lips,  motionless 
before,   opened,   and    faint,  indistinct    words    of 
prayer    escaj)ed    them.     Tlien   a  gushing  sound 
was  heard  ;  his  hand  moved  wanderinglv  towards 
the  wound -the  blood  was  bursting  froni  it  in  a 
dark  and  bubbling  stream.     His  head  sank  upon 
his  breast,  and  the  spirit  of  the   "  regenerated '' 
bad  taken  its  flight. 

"  :\ray  he  rest  in  peace,"  mentallv  ejaeulnted 
i^  ather  Jean  Laval  as  he  cast  his  eve  once  more 
upon  the  scene  around.  It  liad  ^low  become 
terrific.  The  fragile  bark  was  sinking  beneath 
them;  escape  by  the  river  was  impossible:  escape 
■^^*"'-^  iiiiv-auj  uuuuiiui.    ±im  brave 


k 


■  t.-^a!.Mr-;ss»?«'*««»-,- 


KIGH T    Vr 0 X   THE    WA  TER S. 


55 


Hurons,  taken  at  disadvantage,  were  unable  to 
display  their  accustomed  valor.  At  a  signal  from 
the  chief,  two  warriors  sprang  from  the  canoe,  and 
thus  lightened  and  buoyed  up  the  sinking  bark, 
at  the  same  moment,  almost,  a  few  strokes  sent 
it  within  fording  of  the  land.  Every  man  made 
for  the  shore,  grasping  his  rifle  in  his  left  hand, 
while  his  right  brandished  his  tomahawk.  Aha- 
sistari  bounded  to  the  beach.  Bidding:  Father 
Jean  Laval  to  follow  him,  it  was  but  a  moment's 
work  to  reach  a  cover  in  the  w^oods.  He  was 
seconded  by  a  number  of  his  braves,  and  ere  the 
last  canoe  had  touched  the  shore,  the  sharp  crack 
of  the  Huron  carabines  was  heard  on  the  flank 
of  tlie  Iroquois.  As  suddenly  the  firing  ceased. 
The  Iroquois,  surprised  by  the  unexpected  activ- 
ity of  the  Huron  movement,  clung  close  to  their 
coverts,  and  for  a  time  a  fearful  and  unbroken 
silence  hung  upon  the  scene  of  death. 

Upon  the  shore,  by  the  side  of  a  dying  Indian, 
knelt  Father  Jean  Laval.  The  cross  of  Christ 
was  in  his  hands,  and  the  eyes  of  the  departing 
rested  on  it.  Words  of  holy  comfort  flowed  from 
his  lips ;  the  solemn  absolution  was  pronounced, 


i: 


56 


NiailT    UPON   TUF.    WATERS. 


and,  nnomtcd  and  aneled,  the  spirit  of  the  Chris- 
tma  warnor  took  its  flight,  in  the  midst  of  the 
Stern  s,lene^  .hat  momentarily  reigned  around 
that  scene  of  stnfe,  to  regions  whore  neither  l,at- 

f  "r  f  "^  •  """  "'"''•     '^'  "'«  '"-^t  convulsive 
throb  of  dy.ng  agony  eeased,  and  the  muscular 

■mbs  of  the  warrior  fell  back  motio.dcss  from 
he  death-struggle,  the  priest  arose  from  his  pos- 
ture  by  the  side  of  the  lifeless   body.     "Have 
mercy  on  him,  O  Lor.l  -  "  he  said  in  a  low,  sad 
voice,  and  turned  away  towards  the  forest 


l^ 


-■^-"«-aiK!»^ 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  Conflict. 

[ILENCE  und  darkness  on  the  seene! 
Not  a  movement  in  tlie  forest — not  a 
ray  of  light,  save  the  dim  gray  of  the 
far-off  sky — no  sound  but  the  half  hushed  moan 
of  pain,  jarring  sadly  with  the  soft  music  of 
flowing  waters.  It  was  a  living  solitude.  No 
voices  were  heard  where  there  were  many  ready 
to  break  forth  in  fury;  and  where  there  were 
many  glowing  with  tiie  flame  of  human  passion, 
no  forms  were  seen  but  one.  That  form  enclosed 
a  gentle  spirit. 

The  Jesuit  strode  towards  the  forest. 

Gloom  was  upon  his  patli,  but  an   invincible 

tranquillity  reigned  within  his  breast.     Over  the 

stillness,  more  startling  by  its  sudden  contrast 

with  the  wild  peal  of  battle  which  iiad  ceased  so 

67 


58 


Tlrn  COHFLICT. 


\ 


M..l.lo„Iy,  ,^n,c  no,v  an.l   tlion   flu-  rnstlinR  of 
<-v<'N  as  .1...  a„,.M,.sIu.a  /O..S  fell  j,,,,,,,.,,,^.  .^.^ 

I-    n,u..l,„,.   of  „,V,,t    ,„„,    „,o,.ni„,,  ana    ,ll 

f.lM.,^.ar.s)ookc.d.a.lIy<lo„-,.  ,,,,;,. 7,,Hi„/ 
"  ;;;o,c.,  ,,,(0  ti.e  «o„l  of  tl,c  .lark  river  ^ 

.  .<■  |.rie.t  ,,re«.so.l  on,  l,ce,IIos.,  or  unoonseions 
of  (1,0  .lansor  tl.at  lurkoa  wi,l,in  the  forest      He 
.-.a   t,e  opening  of  a  slight  ravh.c;    as  1 
,.<■.,,,. ward,  an  oUstaele  eaught  his  f;ot,  and 

'•"^     '""'^oK,  ,t  rostea  upon  a  oap_hc  heia   it 

A  sluKhlor  passea  throngh  his  fran.e- 
tl.c  o  was  a  n.„n„„r  of  sorrow  ana   ..rayor    a 

-.lungofthehoart-bnthostillpassoLn    'a 
f-v  ieot  further  lay  a  woundea  Hmon.     A  low 

s..'.   escapea  the   lips   of  the   warrior,  ana    he 
ondcavon..!   to  turn   himself  upon  the  groun 
1"    ".  van,      The  Jesuit  bent  over  the  Lulia   ' 
and,  ,n  a  low  whisper,  asked  hin. :  "S„n    h^st 
tliou  been  baptiml?" 

;'  ^\o,  n>y  father ! »  he  said,  in  a  faint  and  v...^ 
voice.  '  ■      ''^""^ 


THE    CONFLJCT. 


59 


The  place  tlicy  nociipicd  at  the  hottoiii  of  tlie 
ravine  was  .^oinewliat  rovcred  IVorn  the  position 
of  the  InKiuois.  Tliere  was  yet  time  for  Father 
Laval  to  seek  cover  in  the  rear  of  his  Ilnrons, 
and  perhaps  escape  wonld  liave  been  j)()ssil)le; 
for  the  Iro<piois  were  now  husily  oe<*npi(.'d  in 
slowly  and  eautionsly  extending  their  forces  in 
order  to  ontflardx,  and  thus  drive  the  Christian 
wtiri-iors  from  their  covers.  So  guarded  had  been 
the  movements  of  both  parties,  and  such  the 
gloom,  that,  as  yet,  neither  Huron  nor  Iroquois 
had  gained  an  oj)portunity  of  firing  with  any 
certainty  of  aim,  and  both  were  too  wary  to 
throw  away  a  shot,  and,  at  the  same  time,  dis- 
cover their  whole  manccuvrc  to  the  foe  by  the 
flash  of  their  fire-arms. 

Father  l/ival  arose  and  crept  lightly  towards 
the  river.  As  he  passed  by  a  little  hillock  or 
mound,  he  was  startled  by  the  cracking  of  a  twig 
and  a  low  hiss  like  that  of  a  serpent.  Hesitating 
a  moment,  he  recollected  the  sound  he  had  heard 
in  the  can(.e,  and,  reassured,  fixed  his  eye  upon 
the  spot  until  he  distinguished  a  dark  object 
moviiig   toucirdjs   him,   and   slowly   erecting   its 


I  r 


60 


Tin:  coxfr^ifj, 


'^•"'   '••'....  .1,,.  Kr..,„„l  „s  it  ai.pr...„.|„„I      r 

"';;-v„i.,..,,.,,,,,,,,,;j;;;;'^"''''»'-',a,,,ii„ 

Follow  me!"  >'^   ^"'^^'  t<^  flee! 

"(Jo,  clnVf;   you   have   vour  ,l„t;...    t   i 
;>"-;  ".e  l>ravon,a„  do.."!,;    , ,.";,, ^J'^- 

"le  rest   to  God      fv  ^"c^,  and  Jeaves 

to  n.ino."  ^"  ^■""  '°  .vour-s-Joave  n,e 

"Voii  "ill  ,i„t  follow  mo 9" 

it  IS  not  far  from  the  end  nf  f I.  •    i-      .     , 
will  /]^  1  '"^  ^"^' oi  tiioir  Jine  '     Vmi 

o:;li,^!!:''£-.-^^;;r7 

-ienoe.     i^ather   Lava.    iLtened  C;  ^r^' 


TIIH    COSFUCT, 


61 


disco vrrrd  tlie  light  trampling  of  mo<'raMiiic(l 
feet;  tlicn  the  low  cry  of  an  owl  Mruck  upon  liis 
car,  and  again  all  was  silent. 

'*Thcy  arc  gathering  Ibr  a  charge,"  said  the 
chieftain.  "  Ahasistari  must  he  there  to  meet 
them.  AVheii  you  hear  the  war-cry  of  the 
Ilurons,  know  that  your  children  are  fighting 
to  save  you.  Hasten  along  down  the  shore  and 
seek  a  liiding-place."  The  chief  stretchetl  him- 
self upon  the  ground,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the 
obscurity  which  still  pervaded  the  scene. 

With  a  rapid  step  the  Jesuit  turned  towards 
the  river,  lifting  up  his  heart  to  God,  as  he  went 
along,  for  assistance  in  this  trial.  To  fill  his  cap 
with  water,  and  retrace  his  steps  to  the  side  of 
the  wounded  Indian,  was  but  tlie  work  of  a 
moment.  The  eyes  of  the  warrior  fastened  upon 
the  cooling  liquid  that  oozed  from  the  cap ;  and 
with  a  supplicating  look,  he  laid  his  finger  upon 
his  parched  and  feverish  lip,  and  uttered  the 
single  word  "water."  The  Jesuit  raised  his 
head  upon  his  arm,  and  applied  the  cooling 
draught   to   the   sufferer's   mouth.      A   grateful 


6 


62 


Tiihi  rnxpfi^j. 


i    . 


KlfluT   .[("111   I.,,M    I  •      I 

T'..-   was   „•„,     ";      '"'  ''.'"•'•'--  "'y  value. 

ui.on  .ho  silo.;:':   -' ""^'''-' ■^''"' l'--"'"!  «.Hl.lo„?,- 

Aliasisfari,  the  fearless  ehief  of  the  Ir 
''••"1   ore,,t    baek   swiftly   to   thl  '         """"' 

««niors,   and    prepared  '"'""°"  "*'  '''« 

o.j.,,,ht  of  tLTii"' u-it^thrr 

-U  read,  .kiil  of  the  Indian,  h^deteiXrt 


i 


•  •.!.t.-.-,-  .-w-.,i,jrtj^ 


Tiih:  rn\ Filer. 

entrap  tlio  luc  wlicn  the  jussault  should  1 
liad   already    jdaccd   liiinsclf,  with  a    i;.u"(.I 
men,  stealthily  in  advance,  in  a   nearer  and 
fiivorahle  |M)sition,  when  I 


63 


H'lrin.and 


loseii 


easily 


lis  eye,  wandering  nn- 


in    seal 


Spot   where  ho   had    left    I 


vh   of  the  Jesuit,  rested    upon   \\ 


le 


IMU. 


J>inil 


V   it   eau'dit 


the  form  of  the  priest,  bent  hack  hy  the  stnui^r 
grasp  of  the  savage,  and  the  ujjlifteil  knifb  sus'^ 
lunded.      He   sprang    f,,rward.      To    f 


disclose  his  strat 


ire    was    to 


ig<Mn  to  the  foe;  to  desist  would 

V  swuuir  his 


be   death  to   the  priest.     J  To  sterid 

earbine  into  rest  — his  sinewy  hand's  grasjK'd  it 

as  tirndy  as  if  the  muscles  had  been  steel.     Tl 


HIS 


eanie  the 


it  rested  for  a  moment,  motionless ;  then 
elicking  of  the  trigger,  and  a  cloud  of  smoke,  with 
a  sheet  of  flame  from  the  muzzle,  swept  over  his 
still  form.  The  blow  of  the  Inupiois  deseench^d  : 
but   it   was   the   harndess   falling   oi  the  lifeless 


arm  — the    bullet    of    the    Huron    had    passed 
through    his    heart.      He    fell    forward    heavily 
upon  the  ])riest. 
Out  broke  the  fierce  war-whoop  of  the  iVfo- 

arrows   flew.     Then 
Kihiij  Hie  traiiipiing  oi  many  feet 


hawks — shots    pealed   and 
ea.me  tho  \vil<l   r'"^'>    *^* 


I 


ii 


64 


Tin:  rosyj^  r^,j. 


''''■'•ln.v^,vlMVI,,,|a,,,.,,,„  ,,     _|  :     '^ 

'"I   '-I  l.r..,  „„.l  ,|.„,,„,  „„.,„,.  ._^^  _  ' 

>N.ir<ij,()i  tJic  (lark   river      ( )vw.t.  #i         -i  i 

;i:r::,;::;ir'"" *  '"^  -'-"^" -^^^ 

A  fb„- rapid  l„„.n,I«  I„.ouKl,t  tl„    ll,,,-,,,  oluef 
I.         ...      "'M""-'.     'lai.^inir  III,,,  ,1,  .. 

tiHcts  ()t  the  incident: 

"  Fa<l,or,  KO  mnv !   'Far  down    the   l,a„k  of 

I'c  nv,.r  vo„  .ill  /I,,.,  the  un,Ierj,row,l      ,,i  k 

a„.l  lK.avy-koo„  l,y  „.e  o,Ij,e  of  the  ,vate        Ve 

Jl-   IhToas    will    ,.e»,ai„    while   you    remt    ' 

M  .on  >ou  have  fle.1,  we  al.o  will  sc^k  .^f  ,. '  '■ 

H.onI,„ustgo.".ai,lthe.feuit,andLh- 


I 


■.•j-,.rt.>r**us».. 


tiif:  roxFLicr. 


65 


orinnj  up  nroiind  liim  tlic  l(ui^'  l»lack  pown  which 
he  wore,  he  prepaictl  to  fl(H'  from  thw  spot. 

Ahji-lstari  stooped  <Io\vn  and  ^raspe<i  .hescaln- 
hnk  of  Ills  iuv,  and  was  uhout  to  \k\sh  his  kinfe 
around  tlie  skin  to  tear  it  from  his  head,  llis 
hand  was  arreste<l  hy  the  priest  :  — 

"  Do  not  viohite  the  dead,  niv  son  !  '* 

*'  He  is  a  Mohawk,  my  father!  " 
•      ''  He  is  a  man— yon  have  kiik-d  him  in  l)attIo 
—  (h)   not   mntihite  liis  body.      It  is  not  Cliris- 
tian." 

'I'he  warrior  raised  himself  from  the  body  of 
his  foe,  and  reverently  made  the  sign  of  the  cross 
npon  his  forehead;  then,  pointing  the  way  to  the 
Jesuit,  bounded  back  to  his  first  position  amid  a 
sliower  of  balls  and  arrows  that  whistled  around 
liim  as  he  emerged  from  the  ravine.  Looking 
baek,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  form  of  the 
Jesuit  hurrying  down  the  path  he  liad  desig- 
nated. In  the  next  moment  the  Huron  chief 
was  in  the  thickest  of  the  conflict. 

Gathering   new   spirit  from    the    presence  of 
their  leader,  the  Christian  warriors  still   made 
good  their  po^Iiion  against  the  foe;  but  it  was 
6*  E 


II 


I) 


.  I 


;  ? 


:    <i 


66 


THE   CONFLICT. 


evident  that  the  struggle  could  not  he  long 
protracted.  Yet  each  moment  gained  served  to 
increase  the  distance  between  the  Iroquois  and 
their  father  of  the  black  gown.  At  length  the 
thinned  numbers  of  his  warriors  gave  notice  to 
the  chief  that  retreat  could  not  longer  be  delayed. 
At  the  signal,  the  Ilurons  sprung  back  from  tree 
to  tree,  securing  cover  as  they  retired,  and,  bat- 
tling thus  each  foot  of  ground,  they  made  the  ■ 
advance  of  the  Mohawks  slow  and  cautious. 

Ahasistari  approached  a  well-tried  warrior  and 
whispered  a  command  in  his  ear,  —  the  Indian 
hurried  to  the  rear  and  turned  towards  tlie  river. 
A  moment  after,  a  little  below  the  landing,  alonff 
the  shore  where  the  rippling  waves  broke  in  a 
line  of  light  upon  the  sands,  a  dark  form  seemed 
to  rest  for  a  moment  prostrate  upon  the  grass, 
then  with  a  quiet  motio.  rolled  slowly  down  the 
slope  to  the  river's  bank,  and,  without  a  single 
splash,  disappeared  beneath  the  water's  edge. 
An  upturned  canoe  was  floating  by  the  spot  : 
imperceptibly  its  motion  appeared  to  quicken, 
and  when  it  had  gained  some  distance  from  the 
shore^  it  was  suddenly  righted  and  an  Indian 


:^j 


THE    CONFLICT. 


67 


(-.♦-('rully  crept  over  the  side.  A  yell  broke  from 
the  forest  proving  that  he  was  discovered,  and  a 
few  shots  whistled  around  him;  but  seizing  a 
paddle,  which  had  been  fastened  in  the  canoe,  he 
whirled  it  in  defiance  at  the  foe,  and  then  urged 
his  ba^k  down  the  river. 

At  .tngih  time  enough  had  elapsed  for  Father 
Laval  to  gath.  a  sutficient  start,  and  his  Ilurons 
betook  themselves  to  flight,  having  selected  the 
spot  opposite  their  last  bivouac  as  the  final  })lace 
of  rendezvous  for  those  who  might  escape.  The 
main  band  shaped  their  course  somewhat  from 
the  river,  while  Ahasistari,  accompanied  by  a 
single  warrior,  hastened  to  the  spot  to  which  he 
had  directed  the  Jesuit  to  proceed. 

Father  Laval  had  turned  awa;  from  the  scene 
of  strife,  and  was  hurrying  down  the  shore  when 
he  heard  the  groan  of  a  wounded  Indian  whose 
strength  had  failed  him  as  he  crept  towards  the 
river-bank.  He  paused.  How  could  he  flee? 
How  leave  behind  him  so  many  souls  to  whom 
his  ministry  was  necessary  ?     He  turned  from  his 

path  ;  he  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  Huron,  and  left 

b;.^    X   x:ii    x\- -    -1        i   _ r»  ,1  -.   .    . 

iiii  iiut  uii  liic  biiuut  ui  tiie  pui'suers,  driving 


(  I 

t 


^ 

'   f 

i 

i' 

1    I      ' 

i 

ill  I 


68 


r//A'    CONFLICT. 


I 


deeper  into  the  forest,  became  faint  upon  Ills  onr. 
At  length  he  arose,  and  lieedless  of  the  vords  of 
the  chief,  retraced  Iiis  steps  to  the  now  silent 
scene  of  battle.  Many  a  time  he  knelt  and 
shrivwl  the  dying  Christian  warrior,  or  baptized 
the  departing  neophyte,  and  nttered  words  of 
hope  to  the  wild  savage.  Kindly  and  gently, 
and  with  almost  a  woman's  touch,  he  laved  the 
parched  lips  and  throbbing  brow  of  the  wounded, 
and  soothed  their  pains.  Absorbed  in  this  work 
of  holy  love,  he  heard  not  the  apjn-oaching  stci)s 
of  a  form  that  soon  gained  his  side. 

"Oh,  my  father,  I  came  to  seek  thy  body^ 
and,  joy,  I  find  thee  safe ! '' 

"  Ah  !  Rene,  my  son  !  heaven  bless  thee,"  said 
the  Jesuit  as  he  gazed  affectionately  upon  the 
youth.  ''\  believed  thee  dead  — see,  I  found 
thy  cap  upon  the  field.  I  mourned  for  thee,  my 
son." 

"Yes,  I  lost  it  in  my  rapid  flight.  The  young 
Indian  Watook  hurried  me  to  the  shore,  and  led 
me  to  the  rear.  There  in  safety,  I  watched  the 
progress  of  the  fight,  until  it  became  necessary 
for  me  to  flee  deener  into  fho  wnnrla      \foi.;..^  „ 


THE    CONFLICT. 


e9 


(lotoiir  as  the  foe  went  of!' in  pursuit,  I  eanie  hither 
to  seek  thee." 

*'  It  is  well  :  we  will  die  together,  comforting 
eueh  other." 

*'If  it  he  the  will  of  Providence,  my  father." 
And  the  Jesuit  and  the  novice  betook  themselves 
to  their  ofHce  of  love. 

A  young  Irocjuois  warrior,  wounded  severely 
but  not  fatally,  had  fainted  from  loss  of  blood. 
He  now  began  to  revive;  and  an  involuntary 
groan  broke  from  his  lips.  Rene  Bourdoise 
raised  liis  head  from  the  ground,  whilst  the 
Jesuit  endeavored  to  stanch  the  wound.  The 
effusion  had  been  great,  and  if  it  continued 
longer  woukl  prove  fatal.  No  mean  surgeon  was 
Father  Jean,  and  he  worked  with  a  charitable 
heart.  Whilst  the  two  Frenchmen  were  thus 
engaged,  the  loud  shouts  of  the  returning  Mo- 
hawks broke  upon  their  ears.  The  savages  had 
observed  the  escape  of  the  Huron  in  the  canoe, 
and,  fearing  that  succor  might  be  near,  (hired  not 
protract  the  pursuit  too  long.  Redoubled  yells 
of  joy  came  forth  as  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
two  most  higiily  prized  of  their  foes,  whose  escape 


70 


THE  CONFLICT. 


thoy  liad  feared.  IJouiidinjr  forward,  two  war- 
riors were  about  to  grapple  with  then.;  they 
came  with  uplifted  arms,  hut  the  Jesuits,  un- 
moved, eontinued  to  perform  th<'ir  eharitahle 
labors.  Fatlier  Jea.i  had  m.^t  sueeeeded  in 
stanehing  the  ih.w  of  bhmd,  and  was  smooth- 
ing (U)wn  the  i)an(higc  that  compressed  the 
wound ;  Rene  Bourdoisc  laved  the  brow  of  the 
Inxpiois. 

Tlie  two  warriors  stood  still,  astonished,  and 
then,  uttering  the  (hvp,  h)w  guttural  exclamation 
peculiar  to  tJieir  race,  their  only  expression   of 
surprise,  dropped  their  arms,  and,  turning,  gazed 
on   one  another    in    unmingled    wonder.     They 
Mere  soon  joined  by  their  compani  >ns,  who  gath- 
ered near  by  this  scene  so  new  to  them,  and  the 
same  low   exclamation    ran    around    the   group. 
In  sooth  it  was  an  unwonted  contrast :  man  the 
fiend,  and  man  the  angel;  — the  warrior,  red  with 
blood,  smoking  with  slaughter;  and  the  priest, 
calm  and  passionless,  breathing  peace  and  charity 
to  all  men,  binding  up  the  wounds  of  his  enemy. 
Father  Jean  arose,  with  his  arms  crossed  upon 
his  breast,  his  beolo-n    f«^nfnrna   .,l^..,:.,^  ,„:xk   _ 


THE  CONFLICT. 


71 


lioly  enthusiasm.  The  priest  and  the  savage 
stood  face  to  face.  The  dark  flashing  orb  of  the 
warrior  sh)\vly  yieldeil  to  the  softening  influence 
of  the  niihl  and  gentle  eye  <»f  the  Jesuit;  sud- 
denly he  turned  away  his  glance  and  approaclied 
the  wounded  man,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
brow,  as  if  to  discover  that  there  was  no  decep- 
tion. Then  he  coldly  watched  the  face  of  the 
sufferer.  The  novice  still  supported  his  head, 
and  laved  his  brow  and  lips.  In  a  moment 
more  the  wounded  man  opened  his  eyes,  and  a 
faint  smilo  played  across  his  features. 

*'  Good,  Kiskepila !  "  muttered  the  Mohawk 
chief,  and  turned  away. 

Father  Jean  had  now  time  to  look  about  him, 
for  he  was  left  unmolested.  The  jMohawks  had 
made  several  prisoners  in  the  pursuit,  whom,  six 
in  number,  some  of  the  conquerors  had  just 
dragged  up,  bound  tightly  and  securely.  In  an 
hour  more  the  last  straggling  pursuer  had  re- 
turned, the  dying  Hurons  had  been  scalped  and 
tomahawked,  the  bodies  of  the  fallen  Iroquois 
buried,  and  the  conquerors  and  their  prisoners, 


o  ■""  "  "  o"- 


flip    niif! 


I 


72 


THE  CONFLICT. 


vance,  bearing  their  woun,le<l  upon  litters  ma.Ie 
of  bongha,  left  tl.o  bank.,  of  the  St.  Lawrenee 
where  they  had  eoncc-alc^  their  eanoos,  and 
etrnek  off  doe,,  into  the  forest,  towards  the  Mo- 
liawk  villages. 


w 


^'1   I 


[ 


CHAPTER    VI. 


TllK   MORN. 

HE  sun  came  up  over  the  eastern  liills, 
briglitly  and  beautifully,  not  a  cloud 
across  his  path.  His  first  slanting 
beams  fell  ui)on  the  form  of  a  tall  warrior, 
stealing  his  way  down  the  banks  of  the  St. 
Lawrence ;  a  sliort  distance  behind  came  another, 
cautiously  covering  and  concealing  every  fool- 
step  as  he  passed,  while  to  the  south,  deep  in  the 
forest,  might  be  heard  the  sounds  of  conflict  and 
pursuit.  Rapidly  they  hurried  on,  yet  carefully, 
until  at  length  the  underwood  became  thick  and 
heavy,  and  difficult  to  penetrate,  and  the  ground 
soft  and  swampy.  Then,  emerging  from  the 
wood,  they  kej)t  along  l)y  the  edge  of  the  water, 
searching  closely  for  the  marks  of  footsteps  upon 
the  sand  or  clay.  The  examination  was  in  vain. 
7  78 


ir 


«  i  I 


,  I 


i 


IM 


i 


! 


1 


74 


ri/E  MO  ay. 


P'or  a  inoiuont  the  tall  warrior  looked  about  in 
(l<>iil)t  ;  tluMi,  rencwin«,r  the  scriitii)y,  proceeded 
down  the  river.  I^it  he  met  with  no  better 
snncss.  An  unusual  exj)ression  of  pain  passed 
across  his  features,  and,  rcstin<r  the  butt  of  his 
gUM  upon  the  ground,  he  leaned  uj)on  it  in 
thnught.  His  dress  was  torn  and  bloodv,  and 
tiic  marks  of  many  wounds  were  uj)on  liim. 
'i^hc  sun  played  brightly  across  the  face  of 
Ah.isistari,  but  his  spirit  was  dark  and  sad.  He 
had  fbund  no  trace  of  Father  Laval.  His  solemn 
vow  was  in  his  memory. 

At  length  twice  he  whistled,  low,  but  pierc- 
ingly ;  at  the  second  time  a  rustling  was  heard  a 
short  distance  down  the  bank  where  the  bushes 
overhung  the  water,  and  lifting  carefully  aside 
the  Icafv  branches,  a  Huron  appeared,  urging  his 
canoe  from  his  hiding-place.  A  few  strokes  sent 
the  light  bark  to  .he  feet  of  Ahasistari,  and  the 
rower  stood  beside  him.  The  three  Indians 
spoke  together  for  a  moment,  and  then  sat  down 
silently  upon  the  shore.  A  slight  noise  startled 
them,  and  Ahasistari  exclaimed,  ^' He  comes!" 
In  a  moment  more  a  step  was  heard  upon  fho 


THE   MORN. 


76 


8aii(l,  ainl  Watook,  soiUnl  and  stained  with  tlie 
marks  ol  battlo,  stood  iK't'orc  tlieni.  He  looked 
Aliasistari  in  the  face,  an<l  then  his  head  sunk 
<\u\\\\  upon  his  hreast  in  sih'nee.  The  chief 
addressed  liini : 

"S|K'ak,  Huron!" 

Kaisin*;  his  hand  towards  tlie  soutli,  wliile  his 
eyes  n;h)wed  like  h  irning  coals,  the  younjr  hrave 
exclaimed:  ^' The  Hawk  carries  off  the  dove; 
the  Mohawks  lead  away  the  father  of  the  black 
gown  and  the  young  Frenchman  to  their  villages, 
to  the  tortiire :  and  Watook" — and  his  strained 
a?*ms  pressed  tightly  against  his  bosom,  as  if 
to  keep  down  its  inward  struggle  — "  Watook 
looked  upon  it." 

Aliasistari  sat  motionless  for  a  moment,  then 
looked  fixedlv  at  the  youno;  Indian,  his  eve  seem- 
ing  to  pierce  into  the  depths  of  his  soul.  Not  a 
muscle  moved  ;  not  a  nerve  quivered  ;  but  there 
was  a  sorrowful  sternness  in  his  glance.  Then 
he  gazed  around  upon  the  group  of  Hurons : 

"  How  many  Iroquois  ?  The  days  arc  many 
before  the  villages  can  be  reached  —  and  night 
and  day  — "'  and  lie  grasped  his  knife  express- 


n  1 

! 

I 

» 

1 

ll 


\i' 


i    'I 


i: 


til 


»< 
5       H 


i 


i 


70 


r//^:  Mony 


jwly.  A  <hv,>  c.xclun.ation  (.f  approval  hn.ko 
••<;"^lHstwoc.<„Mpa.,i<,ns.  \Vat.><>k  ivplu.!  not, 
m     l>o.M(o.l   to  ti.e  sa.Hls  of  the  shop.,  ami   then 

to  the  I(.avc.s  of  tlic  forest. 

.  "  »t  is  useless,"  said  the  c-hief,  a.ul  sunk  a^^ain 
'"os.W  At  h.n.th,  raising  hi.nselfup  to  his 
^^'JN.n.ht,  he  sai<l:  "J  have  sworn,  my  brothers! 
yon  are  hound  hy  no  vow.  (io !  the  waters  are 
oj>en  to  Q.H.hee.  Ahasistari  will  Join  his  father 
ot  the  l>laek  gown,  and  share  liis  fate." 

The  JIurons  drew  back  from  the  shore  to  the 
^•d(>  of  their  chief,  and  stood  immovable.  A 
gleam  of  hope  broke  upon  the  mind  of  the  leader 
and,  pointing  to  Watook,  he  .said:  -Go!  sweep 
down  the  river  to  the  place  of  gathering;  brin<r 
up  the  warriors  who  inay  have  eseai)ed,  and  lead 
them  upon  our  trail;  we  will  reseue  our  ,,eoplo 
or  ])erish  with  them."  ' 

Watook's  heart  l)eat  high.  He  would  bring 
rescue  to  the  very  villages  of  the  Mohawks,  and 
save  the  novice  and  the  priest.  lie  stepped 
lightly  into  the  canoe,  and,  with  a  i'G^^■  strokes, 
sent  It  far  into  the  current.  Then  waving  his 
hand    to  the  three  Hurnns  ^x-hr.  cf^...i  ..-^^.i. 


THE   MoliX. 


77 


ga/In^'  lifter  him,  In;  stotTcd  his  course  directly 
(low  II   the  river. 

**  Watook  hath  a  hold  yoiin^  heart ;  he  will 
lead  the  hraves  of  the  Hiirons  when  the  arm  of 
Aha.sistari  is  cold,"  said  the  chief;  and  the  three 
devote<l  warriors  turned  invay  upon  the  trail  of 
the  enemy 

The  Iroquois  marched  silcntlv  on  through  the 
pathless  forest,  striking  directly  for  their  vilhi^as, 
guided  only  by  that  wonderful  instinct  which 
enables  an  Indian  to  toil  on,  day  and  night,  over 
hill  and  valley,  through  forest  and  thicket  and 
swamp,  as  unerringly  a.s  if  directed  by  the  com- 
pass. The  prisoners  were  j)lace<l  in  the  centre  of 
the  line,  and  so  guarded  that  escaj)e  was  im[>os- 
siblc.  The  two  Frenchmen,  like  the  Ilurons, 
were  bound  tightly  with  thongs  of  deer-skin,  but, 
in  the  midst  of  their  sufferings,  they  enjoyed  the 
happy  privilege  of  being  together. 

The  hour  of  noon  had  come;  the  heat  Avas 
oppressive  even  in  tiie  shaded  forest,  and  the 
thick  black  dresses  of  the  Jesuit  and  the  novice 
increased  the  sufferings  of  their  j)ainful  march. 

At  iCiigtn  tiic  party  paused  to  refresli  themseives. 

7* 


m 


1 

'1 

i-'       »i 

• 


n 


78 


TIIH    MdliX. 


"  U(MH',  Miy  son,"  Haid  Fatlirr  T.aval,  "  let  U8 
oHrr  up  the  srcoiid  j»art  of  tlir  msarv.  It  is  tlio 
five  (iolurs.  TIh'  rccolli'ctions  it  contains  Nvill 
console  us  in  our  suOl-rin^rs.  In  our  inislortunrs 
\\v  niu.st  j«rav  to  (ioil  to  assist  us  with  liis  heav- 
enly conM»Iations,  and  to  cnalih-  us  to  cuihirc 
thciM  witli  patii'ucv.  Let  us  oM'cr  th(  in  iij)  as  an 
atoiu'nu'ut  throu<^h  the  hh.od  of  C'hrlsi  tor  our 
past   ofllyncs." 

'\\\v  novice  acrpiicsccd  in  silence,  and  tlio  priest 
l)e;,^au  the  prayers.  For  a  moment  their  captors 
did  not  heed  the  conversation  of  tlie  j)risouers. 
Father  Laval  j)rocee<led,  and  K(  ne  J^)urd«.ise 
said  the  resjumses.  Hiiherto  the  captive  Hurons 
had  maintaine<l  a  stern  and  d()g<^r(Hl  sih'uce,  j)or- 
miitin*,'  no  siu;n  of  pain  to  escape  them,  and 
endurin^r^  })assively  and  with  native  stoicism,  all 
the  insults  of  the  Mohawks.  But  the  sound  of 
the  first  "Ave  Maria,"  in  the  clear  voice  of  the 
Jesuit,  came  like  sweet  music  to  their  sullen 
hearts,  sof'tenin^r  their  savage  humor,  and  sooth- 
ing tlicni  into  love  and  prayer.  Gently  its  holy 
influence  spread  among  the  group  of  suflere»j, 
and   their  stern  features   bocamo  first  siid.  th.on 


'^^^'^■'URi 


TllK     MOliX 


79 


CJiltn  and  plarid,  until  tin*  li^lit  of  religious  aspi- 
ration In'tmu'*!  (Vnrn  many  ii  ^«'a^n'«l  IIkt  tiiriKHl 
to    luav*'!!.      I'Ih-    rrsponsc  caino  l«»\v 


nuMly  up 


aixl  l)ruk(n  (mm  the  lips  of  the  youiifr  novico, 
Kwcllin^  up,  like  a  swrcpifi;;  whvc,  as  our  hy  one 
tlio   (K'<'p   uiusical    tones    of  the   cjiptivc   Hurous 


lOlIUM 


I    it. 


.1 


»v 


M 


(iriti 


t  >' 


it    caiuc    like    the 


tl«ou;jjl»t  of  a  loving  motlicr,  like  \\\v  memory 
of  a  \\()\y  love.  An-  Marin!  swelliuj;  up,  in  tlic 
\\'\U\  forest,  from  <'aj»tivo  hearts,  from  panlied 
and  feverish  lips,  calmed  by  its  ^<'ntle  murmurs, 
to  the  mitthcr  of  tlu»  sorrowful,  (he  mourn int;. 
Arc!  like  dew  to  the  withering  flower,  wils  the 
sweet  prayer  to  the  stricken  soul,  and  tears  came 
down  the  awarthy  cheeks  of  the  Christian  war- 
riors. 

Ama/xnl,  the  Mohawks  looked  upon  tlie  scene; 
then  they  laugh(d  aloud  contemptuously  at  ihe 
faint-hc  rted  braves  who  Nvcpt — iccpt  in  captivity. 

"  Dogs  !  women  !  "  they  said;  "  are  the  llurons 
no  warriors?  8hall  we  go  f)ack  to  their  tribes 
to  carry  off  a  brave  to  torture  ?  Ye  are  women  ! 
our  squaws  will  beiit  you  with  wliips!     Ye  are 


Ti or.  \vr^?*i^ \\\T  f\T    n    wo ?*!*i f\.    — 


«'.,  .!..«* I.  '» 


80 


Till  J   MORN. 


ii 


I 


»5 

^ 


But  the  Christian  Ilurons  prayed  on — Sancttt 
Maria  !  —  their  full,  deep  voices  piercing  up  to 
heaven,  heedless  of  the  scorn  and  taunts  and 
blows  of  their  ciiptors.  At  length  a  Mohawk 
appmached  the  Jesuit. 

"Does  the  Mord  of  the  Medicine  turn  tlic 
Huron  warriors  to  women?  He  is  a  niairician — 
let  him  l)c  silent;"  and  he  struck  him  a  blow  in 
the  facie  with  his  clenched  hand.  The  blood 
gushed  from  the  lips  of  the  priest,  and  he  bo\\ed 
his  head  in  silence 

In  the  forest  from  a  thicket  three  fio-ures. 
crouching  low,  glared  fiercely  out  upon  the 
scene;  over  the  dark  features  of  the  chief  of 
these  flashed  the  fire  of  anger;  his  nostrils  were 
dilated,  his  lips  parted,  his  hand  grasped  his  car- 
abine convulsively.  Then  as  the  priest  bowed 
meekly  to  the  blow,  the  warrior  released  his 
weapon  and  pressed  his  hands  upon  his  brow  as 
if  to  shut  out  the  scene ;  a  low  sigh  escaped  him, 
and  he  too  knelt  and  prayed.  But  for  the  meek 
bearing  of  the  priest,  recalling  the  duty  of  the 
Christian  to  the  heart  of  the  chief,  there  surely 
would  have  been  death  among  the  conquerors 


THE   MORN. 


81 


in  that  instant.  Ahasistari  knelt  and  prajVd. 
The  time  for  action  had  not  yet  come:  it  was 
not  vengeance,  but  tlcliverancc  that  he  soiiglit. 

The  Jesuit  bowed  meekly  to  the  bio  *^;  then 
raising  his  eyes  up  to  heaven,  while  his  arms 
were  drawn  back  by  the  tight  thong  around  his 
wrists,  he  prayed  on  in  silence.  In  silence  prayed 
the  .-aptives  — but  the  still  incense  of  their  hearts 
floated  upwards  not  lest  sweetly  to  the  throne  of 
God.  It  was  the  dedication  of  the  forests  of  the 
Iroquois  to  the  faith  of  Christ. 

Tlie  Mohawks  soon  made  their  repast,  and 
suc  "died  a  few  moments  of  repose.  The  wretched 
remains  of  their  dinner  were  thrown  to  the  cap- 
lives,  whose  hunger  was  left  unsatisfied,  while, 
from  the  tightness  of  their  bands,  they  were 
unable  to  enjoy  the  momentary  rest  afforded  by 
the  halt.  The  line  of  march  was  soon  formed 
again,  and  the  Mohawks,  refreshed  by  their 
repose,  hurried  on  the  tired  captives  at  a  rapid 
pace,  urging  the  weary  and  the  lagging  with 
heavy  blowc.     Many  hours  passed  thus. 

Rene  Eourdoise  was  faint  and  weary,  and  liis 
faltering  step  betokened  that  without  rest  his 


I 


I 


i  ( 

I 

i  it 


I 


i      i 


!.if 


f  '■ 


\l 


82 


THE   MORX. 


Strength  would  soon  give  out.  In  that  case  a 
certain  death  awaited  hini;  for  the  captors  would 
not  pause  or  delay  when  [f  hlow  of  the  tonia- 
liawk  could,  in  a  moment,  relieve  them  of  their 
trouble. 

A  Mohawk  warrior,  perceiving  his  weariness, 
approached  him,  and,  brandishing  his  weapon 
over  his  head,  pointed  ibrward  to  the  route  they 
were  pursuing,  and  intimated,  by  a  significant 
gesture,  his  fate  in  case  he  shcnild  be  unable  to 
keep  up  with  the  party.  Thus  incited,  the  young 
novice  exerted  himself  anew,  and,  ever  and  anon, 
his  tormentor,  as  his  efforts  seemed  to  flag,  assumed 
a  threatening  posture,  or  struck  him  with  a  heavy 
stick  which  he  had  picked  up  on  the  march,  or 
pricked  him  foiward  with  the  point  of  his  knife. 
The  folds  of  his  black  robe  were  stiff  with  blood, 
yet  the  fainting  novice  toiled  on  patiently,  turning 
up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  murmuring  a  gentle 
prayer  for  his  tormentors.  Father  Laval,  strono-er 
and  more  accustomed  to  fatigue,  looked  in  help- 
less agony  upon  the  suffering  of  his  young  com- 
panion •  he  cheered  him  onward  with  words  of 
hope,  and    then,  as   the   cruelty   of  the   savage 


li 


THE  MORN. 


as 


increased,  lie  con>o.jd  him  ^^ith  thoughts  of  holy 
coniibrt. 

"Bear  up,  my  son.     Thou  art  the  soldier  of 
Jesus.     Thou  art  scourged ^//c  was  scourged. 
•It  IS  a  glorious  pnvUege  to  die  in  his  service; 
heaven  is  the  reward  of  the  happy  martvr." 

"  l*ray  for  me,  father,  pray  for  me.  6  God  V 
continued  the  youthful  novice,  looking  sadh-  up 
to  heaven,  "O  God!  grant  me  strength  to  endure 
this  trial ;  grant  me  fortitude  !  " 

The  road  became  more  difficult  and  the  pro- 
gress more  painful.    A  powerful  Huron  marched 
near  the  delicate  young  Frenchman;   no   word 
had   yet   escaped    his    lips.     At    length    he    ^p- 
pro^ched    the   suirercr,  and,  pressing   his   huge 
sliouJder  ..gainst  him,  said  : 
''  Lean  on  me,  my  brother !  '^ 
At  the  same  mo- •..  nt  Kiohba,  the  relentless 
Mohawk,  again  priL'^^.d  the  bleeding  novice  with 
his  knife.     The  youth  started  forward,  and,  with 
a  deep  groan,  fell  to  the  ground.     There  he  lay 
unablo  to  rise.     The  Iroquois  graspc  I  his  toraa-' 
hawk  with  a  savage  exclamation,  and  raised  it 
over  his  head  to  st^-ike  the  exhausted  captive. 


I 


I!        ;i 


HI 


;  P  ' 


i  •. 


84 


TII£  MORN. 


It  was  a  moment  of  agony.  The  tall  Pluron 
sprang  forward;  with  a  mighty  ellort  he  burst 
the  cords  that  bound  his  wrists,  and  rushed 
between  the  Iroquois  and  his  victim.  C)i:  his 
left  arm  he  caught  the  descending  blow,  which 
gashed  deep  into  his  brawny  muscles ;  with  his 
right  he  lifted  up  the  light  form  of  the  novice, 
and,  folding  it  to  his  powerful  chest,  while  the 
pale  face  of  the  insensible  youth  rested  gently  on 
his  dark-red  shoulder,  strode  sternly  forward  to 
the  front  of  the  group  of  captives.  Deej)  excla- 
mations of  satisfaction  escaped  the  Iroquois ;  but 
no  one  attempted  to  interrupt  the  warrior,  for 
the  Indian  loves  a  bold  deed. 

"He  is  brave,"  said  one;  "he  is  worthy  of  the 
stake." 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  warrior ;  he  shall  die  by  the 
torture ! " 

The  Huron  strode  on  with  liis  helpless  burden, 
as  tenderly  and  gently  guarding  it  as  a  father 
does  the  child  he  loves. 

"  Le  Loup  will  bear  his  young  white  brother," 
he  exclaimed. 

Tears  flowed  down  the  cheeks  of  the  Jesuit, 


T1!K    MORX.  OK 

and  he  raised  his  heart  to  heiveii  in  thaiikfuhiess 
for  the  providential  rescue  of  liis  companion. 

At  the  same  instant  the  cry  of  a  hawk  was 
Iieard  in  the  forest,  repeated  thriee  elearly  and 
slirilly,  then  seeming  to  die  away  !»  the  distance 
—  a  gleam  of  joy  broke  out  on  the  hronzcd  iiiee 
of  the  Huron,  and  with  a  firmer  and  lighter  step 
Le  Loup  pressed  onward.  He  knew  by  the 
signal  that  his  chief  was  upon  their  trail',  and 
that  three  of  his  tribe  were  near.  The  Iroquois 
listened  suspiciously  to  the  sound,  but  it  was 
re])eated  no  m')re 

The  sun  was  sinking  low  in  the  west.  Tiie 
shades  of  the  hills  grew  out  lengthening.  On  the 
bosom  of  the  river  the  red  light  feh  in  streams, 
sparkling  from  the  summits  of  the  little  waves. 
Far  down  its  waters,  many  a  weary  mile,  a  ^\a^ 
canoe,  urged  on  by  a  single  Indian,  made  its  way. 
Large  drops  of  sweat  stood  upon  the  rower's 
brow.  A  moment  he  ])aused  and  gazed  ui)on 
the  setting  sun,  then,  shaking  his  clenched  hand 
towards  the  far  southwest,  bent  sternly  to  his 
oar  once  more. 

At  length  he  turned   the  bow  of  his   canoe 

8 


86 


THE  MORN. 


'41 


towards  tlio  sliore;   he  reaeliod  it,  and  bounded 
UP  tlie  Ix-aeli.     Then  (h'awing  his  hark  uj)()n  tlie 
sand,  he  stej)[)ed   into  the  forest  with   his  toma- 
hawk   in   his   liand,  and   began   to   examine   the 
trees  some  distanee  from  the  water,  and,  finding 
no  marks  on  them,  notelied  several  in  a  peeuliar 
manner.     As  he  went  furtlier  in,  a  figure  stepped 
from  behind  a  hirge  oak  wJik^h  Jiad  hitherto  eon- 
realed  h.im,  and  approaeliing  tlie  eanoe,  inspcetcd 
it  earefully,  and  afterwanls  bejit  over  tlie  foot- 
steps   of  the    young   Indian.     Tlie    j)erson   was 
dressed  in  a  hunting-shirt  gathered  elosc  around 
his  waist  by  a  leathern  belt,  whieh  also  served  to 
support   a   long  eurved  knife  and  a  small  steel 
axe.     A  large  })owder-horn  nnd  a  ball-j)oueli  of 
deer-skin  were  slung  over  liis  shoulder;  his  feet 
and  legs  M'ere  proteet<'d  bv  moeeasins  and  leiririnL^s 

C  1        1    •  * 

ot  untanned  skm,  and  his  equipments  were  com- 
pleted by  a  small  black  liair  cap  set  jauntily  on 
his  head.  He  seemed  satisfied  with  the  resuU  of 
his  examination,  and  said  half  aloud  as  he  arose: 
"Huron  canoe  —  Huron  moccasin  —  no  Mohawk 
thief — and  now  Pierre  for  Mons.  le  sauvage." 
Pierre  had  emigrated  from  France  many  years 


THE   MORX. 


87 


before,  and  with  tlie  aid  of  his  son  had  made 
himself  useful  as  a  hunter  to  the  smaller  outposts 
of  the  French.  He  supplied  them  with  game. 
In  one  of  their  excursions  the  Mohawks  came 
u\nm  them,  and  after  a  long  chase  succeeded  in 
killing  and  scidping  the  young  man.  Henceforth 
Pierre  considered  the  Mohawks  lus  his  deadliest 
enemies.  lie  had  served  as  a  spy  under  the  great 
Champlain  —  a  man  dreaded  by  the  Indians  of 
every  tribe,  and  whose  name  had  become  a  war- 
cry  to  tlie  French.  I*ierre  was  an  expert  woods- 
man, and  an  indefatigable  Ind'an  fighter  —  well 
known  and  loved  by  the  llurons,  who  gave  him 
the  sobri(iuet  of  ^^VEspion  hardi.'' 

The  Frenchman  laughed  as  he  entered  the 
forest  to  meet  the  Indian.  '^  IIo,  ho,  Huron,'* 
he  shouted  as  he  strode  carelessly  along.  Watook 
heard  the  voicCj'^nd  springing  to  a  tree,  cast  his 
rifle  into  rest ;  but  the  dress  and  langunge  of  the 
sjjcaker  told  him  it  was  a  friend,  and  he  came 
leaping  towards  him. 

''  Ugh  !  L'Espion  hardi  I  The  pale-face  is  the 
friend  of  the  Huron,"  he  said. 

"  Very  true,  savage,  very  true.'* 


I 


I 


II 


88 


THE   MORX. 


\   -t 


I 


1 


'*  Has  the  Frenchman  found  any  Hurons  Iierc?" 
and  he  waved  his  hand  around. 
.*'  None  hut  yourself,  Hiuon." 
Then  Watook  tohl  him  of  the  sad  misfortune 
which  IkkI  befallen  his  party,  and  of  the  eapturc 
of   the   two  Frenehmen,  and  how  lie  liad  come 
thither  to  gather  tlio  scattered    Hurons  and  at- 
tempt a  rescue.     Exclamations  of  anger  escaj  jd 
the  Iiunter  as  lie  listened  to  the  story,  and  his 
manner  became  more  grave. 

''The  scalp  of  the  son  of  the  Daring  Scout 
hangs  in  the  Mohawk  lodge.  Is  his  knife  rusty; 
will  he  strike  the  trail  of  the  Iroquois  ?  "  said  the 
Indian  in  conclusion. 

Pierre  drew  the  weapon  from  his  belt  and  ran 
his  finger  across  its  glittering  blade— and  his 
feeling  deepened  into  fury  as  lie  remembered  the 
sad  day  on  which  his  son  had  i#ished. 

"Huron,"  he  said  at  length  in  a  stern  voice, 
"Huron!  ^Daring  Scout'  will  strike  the  Mo- 
hawk in  his  village;"  t^cn,  recovering  Ids 
wonted  equanimity,  continued : 

"The  braves  probably  went  deep  into  the 
forest  before  they  struck  off  towards  the  rendez- 


THE  Mony. 


89 


vous  — tlicy  will  l)c  hero  yet  — for  the  current  )f 
the  rivor  jussisted  you  lorwanl  ahead  of  them  ;  it 
is  nii)i(l  now.  Ltt  us  build  a  fire  and  pass  the 
ni^Hit  here.  No  Arohawks  are  outlying  now  ;  for 
t!."'  party  you  fell  in  with  must  have  been  a 
strong  (>n(.^  and  it  is  not  likely  that  there  is 
another  out.  When  the  Ilurons  come  in,  wc 
will  strike  off  through  the  fonsst  to  the  trail  of 
your  chief.'" 

^  'J^he  counsel  seemed  wise  to  the  Indian,  and 
tiicy  i)rei)ared  to  bi\'ouac  u])on  the  spot.  About 
midnight  the  sound  of  a  footstej)  struck  upon  the 
ear  of  the  Frenchman,  who  kept  watch,  sitting 
at  the  foot  of  a  tree  shaded  from  the  li<rht  of  the 
lire. 

''Qui  Vive,"  said  the  hunter,  who  still  adhered 
somewhat  to  his  old  military  habits:  ^'Qui  vive;" 
but  the  figure  opproached,  and  the  ne\t  moment 
a  Huron  stalked  uj)  to  the  lire.  AVatook  awoke 
and  greeted  his  comrade. 

''  The  Hurons  are  scattered,  and  will  come  in 
slowly,  for  tliey  are  very  weary,"  said  the  stranger. 
He  made  no  other  allusion  to  their  late  defeat"". 

When  morning  dawned,  four  or  live  warriors 

8* 


I 


n" 


90 


TIIK   MORX. 


il! 


t 

1     ;   ''■ 

i  ■ 

* 

u 


I 

t 

\ 


If 


had  cc)ll(vt.<l,  and  tho  impatient  Watook  proposed 

to  sv{  out. 

"  X<»,"  said  tlu'  IFiiron  who  ha<l  first  come  in  ; 
*' iiinr,.  I. raves  come  —  more  braves." 

'''riu'v  are  aheady  two  chiys'  march  l)efore 
us,"  sai.l  Walook;  but  Pierre  coimided  with  the 
hi>l.  ]{y  the  hour  of  noon  about  fifteen  warriors 
had  assei,d)h>d,  some  of  them  wounch^l,  and  all 
W'Miicd.  Compened  by  stern  ii(>e(-ssitv,  that 
ni,L;l.t  tli(y  passed  at  the  i)hice  of  rendezv<Mis,  and 
on  the  followin^r  „H)rn  set  out,  thron^di  the  forest, 
t<.  s(rikc  on  the  trail  of  the  Jnxpiois.  .... 

Ai-ht  and  morn  came  and  went,  ni^ht  and 
morn  the  eapt.M-s  and  their  captives  toiled  on 
thron-l,  tJR.  pathless  fbrest.  Still  on  — on  went 
the  weary  march;  ^till  on  the  rear  of  the  con- 
quering Mohawks  hovered  three  dusky  forms- 
stern,  silent,  watchful. . 


=i-. 


CHAPTKIl    VII 


Tilt:  liKTrii.y. 


retiLrn  no  more. 


it 


Drooping  Flower,"  said  the  other,  drawing 


91 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


m 
^ 


// 


/ 


/ 


^ 

.<^^.^ 


'v  <;^ 


<^ 


^.<i^ 


:/ 


i^ 


1= 

11.25 


l^|28     |25 

1.6 


1.4 


"/a 


"7: 


V 


^^ 


>^ 


Pnotographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  MS80 

(716)  872-4S03 


V 


lV 


a.'' 


#x 


6^ 


^^.^  ^.i;^ 


^-^^^ 


p> 


<^ 


i  u 


Hi, 


92 


rilE  RETURN. 


^1' 


1. 1 


up  haughtily,  "  is  not  tlie  blood  of  the  conquer- 
ing Iroquois  in  thy  veins?  and  yet  thou  treni- 
blest  because  the  braves  of  the  tribe  outlie  upon 
the  war-path  a  few  suns  longer  than  tlie  aj)pointed 
time.     Thinkcst  thou  that  tlie  Huron  dogs  could 
withstand  the  invincible  Mohawk?   The  Ilurons 
are  cowards  :  they  have  forsaken  Owaneevo  *  for 
the    God    of  the    pale-face,  and    Owaneeyo    has 
chilled   their  hearts  and   turned   their  blood   to 
water.     Th6  JIurons  are  dogs  !"  and  the  speaker 
tossed    her    hand    contemptuously   towards    the 
Huron  country. 

She  was  a  noble-looking  Indian  girl.      Her 
black  eye  sj)arkled  as  she  spoke,  and  the  height- 
ened color  of  her  cheek  betrayed  the  quick  passion 
of  the  untrained  child  of  nature.     The  other  was 
of  gentle  mood ;  her  full  and  liquid  eye  looked 
out  softly  from  beneath  the  long  and  sweepin<r 
lash  that  shaded  its  light.     Her  hair  was  jetty 
black,  and,  though  straight,  was  finer  and  softer 
than  usual  in  the  Indian  race:  it  was  braided  in 
glossy  folds  around  her  temples,  and  gathered  iu  • 
a  loop  behind,  bound  up  with  bands  of  bright- 
*  The  owner  and  ruler  of  all  things. 


THE  RETURy. 


93 


colored  bark  interwoven  with  beads.  Her  dress 
was  a  mantle,  curiously  wrought  with  gayly-col- 
ored  feathers,  and  trimmed  with  tufts  of  elk-hair 
dyed  red,  thrown  gracefully  around  her  form, 
leaving  her  left  arm  and  shoulder  bare.  Her 
limbs  were  finely  moulded. 

Below  the  maidens  stretched  a  scene  of  great 
beauty.  From  two  hills,  covered  with  heavy 
forest-trees,  an  open  sward  sloped  gradually  on 
either  side,  until  both  blended  into  a  little  plain 
between  traversed  by  a  small  stream,  on  whose 
banks  a  group  of  children  were  playing  busily  — 
now  plunging  into  the  shallow  waters,  and  now 
sunning  themselves  upon  the  soft  and  luxuriant 
grass  that  bordered  it.  On  the  northern  side, 
where  the  descent  faced  full  towards  the  south, 
was  ranged  a  number  of  Indian  wigwams,  in  the 
centre  of  which  stood  the  council-Iodsre,  risins: 
conspicuous  rbove  the  rest  of  the  village.  Before 
the  doors  of  some  of  the  cabins  groups  of  old  men 
and  children  were  gathered,  while  the  squaws 
were  passing  to  and  fro,  engaged  in  their  domes- 
tic labors.  At  the  edge  of  the  forest  a  numl>er  of 
youths  were  practising  with  the  bow  and  arrow. 


r 


It  11  i 


i  n 


III 


94 


THE  RETURN. 


The  western  portion  of  the  slope  was  fillca  with 
young  corn,  green  and  luxuriant  in  its  growth, 
with  its  white  tassels  and  ears  already  blooming 
out.  On  the  southern  bank  of  the  stream  swepl 
upwards  a  gentle  ascent  of  beautiful  green-sward, 
gayly  inters])ersed  with  the  gloriously  tinted  wild 
flowers  that  adorn  the  fields  of  America.  Around 
this  little  valley,  like  a  palisade,  stood  the  edge 
of  the  forest,  its  interminable  rle])ths  stretching 
for  away  towards  the  horizou,  until,  like  the 
green  waters  of  a  vast  ocean,  its  waving  foliage 
seemed  to  mingle  with  the  distant  sky. 

The  two  Indian  maidens  reclined  upon  the 
soft  turf  at  the  edge  of  the  forest  above  the  vil- 
lage, and  for  a  few  moments  gazed  down  in  silence 
upon  the  valley.  The  thick  foliage  of  a  massive 
oak  overhung  them,  and  shaded  them  from  the 
warm  rays  of  the  sun. 

Dancing  Fawn,"  at  length  resumed  the  young 
girl,  "  the  French  warriors  are  terrible  in  battle, 
riding  fierce  horses,  and  with  their  breasts  clad 
in  steel ;  perchance  the  braves  have  fallen  in  with 
them  and  been  cut  off." 

"  False  Mohawk  girl,  have  not  the  braves  of 


THE   RETURN. 


95 


our  nation  met  the  French  in  battle?  Their 
war-cry  is  like  the  roar  of  Unghiara  *  —  the 
Huron  and  the  pale-faces  fremble  at  it^J  sound. 
But  listen,  Morning  Flower!  heard  you  that 
faint  shout?  See!  it  has  aroused  the  village!  '^ 
The  young  maidens  arose  from  tlfcir  recum- 
bent position,  and  awaited  in  expectation  the 
event.  The  village  below  them  now  exhibited 
a  different  and  more  lively  aspect.  The  youths 
had  quitted  their  pastime  and  gathered  around 
the  council-lodge  where  the  old  men  of  the  tribe 
had  assembled.  The  women  had  left  their  occu- 
pations, and  were  clamorously  joining  the  group. 
At  length  another  yell  broke  from  the  forest  far 
to  the  east,  and  came  faintly  swelling  to  the 
expectant  crowd.  In  a  few  moments  more  a 
runner  emerged  from  the  forest,  and,  loping 
down  the  hill,  hurried  on  towards  the  village. 
As  he  approached,  the  assemblage  opened  to 
receive  him,  and  he  paused  in  silence  before  the 
chief,  who  was  surrounded  by  a  group  of  vener- 
able warriors.   Kiodego  f  motioned  him  to  speak. 

*  Niagara, 

I  "A  settler  of  disputes." 


.a 


06 


TJIJ-:  JiKTURy. 


■  i 


"Thr    hnivc's    of    the    Mohawks,"    said    the 
runner,   "are   nnjrhty   warriors;    their  arms   are 
^<troIlJr,  aiul  the  iluroiis  are  dogs.     The  Freneh 
beeoine  women  before  the  battle-axes  of  the  Afo- 
hawks.     The    v.arriors    bring    baek   scalps    and 
many   prisoners;   they   have  capturisl   the  great 
medicine  of  the  French;  they  have  routed  and 
slain   many    Ilurons."     Then   he   recounted   the 
names  of  the   woundinl  —  for  of  the    chad    the 
Indian  speaks  not.     As  he  mentioned  the  name 
of  Kiskepila,  the  son  of  the  old  chief,  a  deep  sigh 
broke  from  the  lips  of  the  Morninjj  Flower,  and 
her   head  sunk   for  a  moment  ui)on  her   brea^^t. 
TluMi  she  raised  it  up  proudly,  and  fierce  deter- 
mination lit  up  her  beautiful   features.     Gloom 
had  pjissed  away.     Kiodego  sat  unmoved,  evinc- 
ing no  concern  for  the  misfortune  of  his  son.     As 
the  runner  finisheil  his  recital,  a  shout  broke  from 
the  assemblage,  which  was  answered  from  the 
forest  by  a  succession  of  yells,  whose  increasing 
tone    marked    the   near    approach   of   the   con- 
querors; it  was  the  scalp -whoop.     Then  came 
another  succession  of  yells,  one  for  each  prisoner. 
At  this  signal    the  crowd   around  the  council- 


THE  RETURN. 


97 


lodge  (lisporrtod  to  the  diircTont  wigwams,  hut 
soon  roaHsenil)hHl,  every  one  armed  with  weapons 
of  some  kind;  knivi's,  tomahawks,  stonen,  and 
war-ehd)H.  Ah  hooii  as  the  rnnner  ap])eared, 
Morning  Fh)wer  and  her  companion  had  do- 
hccmkUhI  and  mingh'd  with  the  group  before  the 
lodge,  and  now,  armed  like  the  other  women  of 
the  tribe,  they  hurried  off  towards  the  edge  of 
the  forest.  It  wouhl  have  been  diflieult  to 
recognize  tlic  sorrowing,  lone,  lorn  Indian 
maiden  witli  the  drooping  glance,  in  the  excited 
form  that  wound  amid  the  group,  urging  on  her 
sister  furies  to  greater  frenzy. 

**  Tlic  Gentle  Flower,"  she  said  to  Dancing 
Fawn,  "is  a  Mohawk  maiden;  a  thorn  has 
pierced  through  her  moccasin  and  wounded  her 
foot.  She  will  pluck  it  out,  and  with  it  tear  the 
flesh  of  the  Frenchman.  The  Morning  Flower 
will  avenge  the  wound  of  Kiskepila ! " 

The  inhabitxmts  of  the  village  had  arranged 
themselves  in  two  lines  on  the  open  space  south 
of  the  little  rivulet,  for  by  that  side  the  war- 
party,  having  made  a  detour  in  the  forest,  were 
to  enter  ou  the  valley.  Thus  the  lines  ran  from 
^  G 


98 


THK   RKTURy. 


1  a 


I  ii 


i 


t 


the  south-west  up  towards  the  villa;^e.  Old 
women  with  staves,  youn^  gentle  inaiiU'ns  with 
heavy  eluhs,  youths  with  knives  and  tomahawks, 
and  even  the  little  naked  children,  with  sharp 
stones,  stood  waitinj^,  with  savage  exultation,  for 
the  eoming  of  the  prisoners. 

The  triumphant  songs  of  the  returning  warriors 
beeamc  every  moment  more  distinct;  at  length, 
far  down  tfie  shaded  avenues  of  the  forest,  the 
front  of  the  body  appeared  in  view.  A  cry  of 
wild  joy  broke  from  the  expectant  savages,  and 
the  two  lines  waved  and  undulated  along  their 
whole  length,  as  each  person  endeavored  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  triumphant  braves.  On  they 
came!  —  the  warrior  stepping  more  firmly,  and 
erecting  his  head  more  proudly,  as  he  beheld  the 
old  men  of  his  village  at  the  council-lodge,  in  the 
distiince,  and,  nearer,  the  women  and  the  children 
who  would  sing  his  gallant  deeds,  and  the  youths 
who  woukl  learn  to  emulate  his  fame.  On  they 
came,  swinging  high  the  scalps  they  had  taken, 
the  bloody  trophies  of  their  victory,  and  chant- 
ing the  story  of  their  actions.  At  lengtli  they 
emerged  from  the  forest,  and  stood  iu  the  bright 


THE   RETURN. 


99 


sun  upon  the  beautiful  grocu  slope  of  verdure. 
The  prisonerH  were  grouped  together;  their 
etiptors  now  .singled  them  out,  preparing  tiiein 
to  stiirt  upon  the  fearful  trial  which  awaited 
them.  Father  Laval  was  pale  and  jaded  ;  his 
face  was  searre<l  and  hruisetl,  and  the  clotted 
hlood  still  disfigured  his  wounded  features;  his 
hands  were  yet  bound  behind  him.  A  ^lohawk 
approached  to  sever  the  coi:d ;  the  flesh  had  so 
swollen  around  the  tight  band  as  almost  to  con- 
ceal it,  and  the  knife  of  the  savage  gashed  the 
hands  of  the  priest.  Released  from  their  con- 
finement, his  arnLS  fell  heavily  to  his  side, 
inanimate,  and  refusing  to  obey  the  stiff  and 
swollen  muscles.  The  blood  began  to  creep 
slowly  in  the  veins,  and  the  sensation  of  numb- 
ness was  succeeded  by  one  of  acute  pain.  The 
Indian  then  loosed  the  band  which  confined  the 
black  robe  of  the  Jesuit  around  his  body.  His 
outer  garment  was  next  taken  off,  and  Father 
Laval  stood  half  unrobed  ;  his  shirt  was  stained 
with  blood,  and  his  naked  feet  and  legs  were 
torn  and  bleeding,  and  festering  with  thorns 
and  briers ;  every  step  left  its  mark  in  blood. 


100 


THE  RETTRy. 


i. 


ii 


Tlie  work  of  the  Indian  was  soon  dour,  and 
the  cjiptivcs  were  prepareil  to  run  the  ^Muntlct. 
Tlio  tender  frame  of  the  younjr  novice,  with  tlie 
red  hlo(Ml  ineru.sted  upon  hi.s  delicate  skin,  and 
his  linil)H  bruised  and  swollen,  and  almost  help- 
less, contrasted  strangely  with  the  massive  pro- 
portions of  Ivc  lyouj),  who  still  kept  close  heside 
him,  ready  to  aid  him  in  his  need.  Strong,  and 
seemingly  unwearied,  the  Huron  stood  up  like  a 
mighty  statue  of  bronze,  lieedlcss  of  the  many 
wounds  upon  his  limbs  and  l)reast.  "  My 
father!"  ho  said  to  the  Jesuit,  as  they  neared 
each  other  for  a  moment,  "  my  father,  when  Le 
Loup  springs  forward  between  the  lines,  hasten 
on,  and  seek  to  avoid  the  blows  of  the  Iroquois ! 
Make  for  the  war-post  by  the  council-lodge  — 
gain  it,  and  you  are  safe!'' 

Rene  Bourdoise  turned  towards  the  spot  indi- 
cated  by  Le  Loup  to  the  Jesuit,  and  his  heart 
shrunk  within  him.  A  hundred  yellinir  furies, 
with  clubs  and  knives,  were  between  them  and 
the  place  of  refuge,  and  his  limbs  were  faint  and 
weary.     He  raiseil  his  soul  to  God. 

"Fear  not,  brother,"  said  Le  Loup,  *'but 
gather  up  all  thy  strength." 


THE  RF.Trny. 


101 


"  I    will    trust   in    (J<m1,"    rcplitHl    tlu;    iiovic*o, 
sadly. 

"  It  in  the  eve  of  the  As.siniij»tion  of  tin*  Blossccl 
Virgin,  my  son,"  t'xchiiiiu't!  {\\v  flcsuit.  "  Let  us 
place  ourselves  under  her  special  protection.  She 
will  in(erce<le  for  our  safety;  or  if  it  ho  (iod's 
Iioly  will,  she  will  ohtain  for  us  strength  to  win 
the  crown  of  Martyrdom.  And  lo  !  "  he  adtled, 
his  countenance  j^leaming  with  joy,  and  his  worn 
and  weakened  form  swellinfjj  erect  with  enthu- 
siiLsm,  "an<l  lo !  the  blood  of  our  Martyrdonj,  of 
our  triumph  on  the  eve  of  her  glorious  and  tri- 
umphant Assumption  into  Heaven,  may  become 
the  forerunner  of  her  Patronage  over  this  new 
land.  With  our  suiferings,  however  unworthy, 
let  us  dedicate  it  to  her  invocation  ! " 

At  length  the  word  was  given:  "Joggo!"  — 
"go!" — and  the  prisoners  started.  The  })ower- 
ful  Huron  broke  away  at  a  swinging  trot,  which 
puzzled  Father  Laval  to  equal.  Le  I^oup  made 
for  the  opening  of  the  lines :  a  hundred  arms 
were  uplifted  to  strike — knives  glistened,  and  the 
whole  gang  of  furies  yelled  with  a  savage  delight. 
The  strong  runner  paused  for  a  moment  till  the 
9* 


I 


I  rf 


I  r 


102 


r/ZA'    RETIRX. 


Jesuit  was  cIom'  IhIu'ikI  him,  tijcn  iMUindirij^r  fnr- 
wanl,  lie  ,Ia.<li(.<i   /icm-Iy  into   the   iiii.lst   o?  tlic 
cTo\\(|,  cMstin^r  asidr  their  I.I.)nvh  and  overturiiin^r 
many  in  his  path.    V<.t  hv  (lid  not  pass  setUhch'ss, 
and,  vvv  h(.  had  p>n('  half  the  distanee,  the  hlood' 
was  streaininjr    f,,,,,,    j,;^   u<)un(Kd    hody.     The 
wh..h>  ra^ro  of  the   whippors  was   in   a   nicrnent 
turned  iipou  him,  for  he  had  su(v(V(h(l  in  hafllin^^ 
many  of  them,  an<l  they  Nven?  pursuin^r  him  re- 
KJirdh'ss    .,f   the    rest,    and    permittin^^    the    two 
Frenchmen   to  c^seape  with   little  sun'erinjr.     I}„t 
there  was  one  whose  passi,>u  was  not  to  he  led  off. 
Mornfnjr  Flower  s(<.rne(l  to  wreak  her  ven<reane<i 
upon  the  Huron,  for  she  e«,neeived  that  none  l)ut 
the   Frenchman   oould    ],:ne   stricken  (h)wn    the 
Younjj^  Fa^de.     Her  eye  was   turned   upon    the 
Jesuit,  whom  she  s^w  passinnr  almost  unharmed 
in  the  rear  of  the  ])owerfuI  warriors.     At  len^rth 
Father  Laval  came  n(^r  her,  ha-stcninjr  forward 
at  as  great   speed   as   In's  swollen   and  stiffeneil 
limhs  would  permit.    She  grasped  a  eluh  of  hard- 
ened wood  in  her  liand— her  ami  ^^-as  misod— tlie 
Jesuit  east  an  imploring  look  upon  lier,  but  the 
heart  of  the  girl  was  steeled  to  pity;  her  savage 


TIIK   RKTVIiS. 


103 


nature   wan   'iny'ulding,  and   who   struck    li'nn   a 
heavy    l)h>\v.     He   H(ajrj;ere<I    foruanl,  alxmt    to 
i'all  ;    at    tlie    next,    nionirnt   lie   was   raised    and 
luirried  forward  l)y  tlie  arm  of  one  of  hi.s  Huron 
neojdjyti's.      Hlinde<l  and  stunned  hy  th"  shower 
of  hh)WH  which   fell  upon  him,  he  still    pressed 
forward,  await inj^  every  moment  the  final  stroke, 
which  would  close  his  suflerings,  when  sud<lenly 
it  Heeme<l  to  him  that  a  new  vi^or  was  infused 
into  his  limhs,  that  he  walked  erect  and  unfalter- 
inj^ly  amoii)^  his  ra^in^  persecutors,  while  amid  a 
radiance  encl'sinj;  him  as  within  a  veil  of  ^lory, 
broke  upon  his  astonished  eyes  a  vision  of  celes- 
tial beauty  whose  pitying  eye,  and  jrlowing  heart 
an<l  outstretched  helping  hands,  consoled,  encour- 
aged, guided  and  protected  him.     At  length  he 
knelt  safe  from  further  harm  at  the  war-j)()st,and 
ere  he  arose  from  his  prayer  of  gratitude,  the  beau- 
teous vision  had  faded  from  his  eyes — though  its 
lm])ress  never  left  his  heart.     A  wild  spectacle 
met  Ins  eye  as  he  gazed  over  the  field  through 
which  he  had  just  j)assed.     The  tall  Huron,  Le 
Lou{>,  heedless  of  blows  and  wounds,  was  still 
struggling  through  the  savage  throng,  carrying 


104 


THE  RETURN. 


the  main  body  of  tlie  whfppcrs  after  him  and 
around  him.     Ever  as  he  turne<l  and  (h)ul)le(I,  a 
portion  of  his  tormentors  would  start  before  him 
to  cut  off  his  escape;  tlien,  like  the  hunted  wolf, 
he  would  burst  upon  them  with  all  his  strength, 
and  break  through  them  — only  to  find  another 
body   ready  to  receive   him.     A   group  of  old 
3(iuaws,  armed  like  fiends  with  the  worst  weapons 
they  could   obtain,  pointed    and  jaggeil   stones, 
sharpened  sticks  and  knives,  attempted  to  stop 
his  course.     He  dashed  into  the  midst  of  them 
striking  the  first  to  the  earth  before  she  could  aini 
a  blow ;  yelling  horribly  as  she  foil,  sh.-^  clasped 
the  warrior's  feet  and  tripped  him  up.     AVith  his 
outstretched  arms  he  grasped  several  of  his  perse- 
cutors, and  they  came  to  the  ground  too-ether- 
his  pursuers,  close  at  his  heels,  fell  over*' them 
and  the  living  pile  struggled  together  in  inextri- 
cable confusion,  striking  and  beating  each  other 
indiscrimmaicly.      A   shout   of  laughter   broke 
from   the  JMohawk  warriors,  who  watched  the 
scene  with  interest.    Winding  out  from  the  living, 
mass  that  wao  piled  up  above  him,  the  Huron 

Bprane^  airaln  fo  In'a  fnof  o,^^i  ^^.^-i- 1     on   •>  ■,. 

^       -=    ^        ~    "••"■  ^-•-'-  "iiv*  oiaxLcu  Oil,  lieiivered 


THE   RETURN. 


105 


from  more  tlian  half  his  pursuers,  who  still  lay 
stru^|j^lin<^  together  —  the  upper  ones  believing 
that  their  victim  was  still  in  their  power,  while 
the  efforts  made  by  those  underneath  to  arise 
made  the  confusion  still  more  dire.  The  Huron 
was  speeding  on. 

Half-way  to  the  post  tottered  on  the  poor 
novice,  Rene  ]5ourdoise,  his  young  limbs  stiff* 
and  fainting.  Ah !  little  did  he  think,  when  he 
quitted  the  shores  of  beautiful  and  gentle  France, 
of  the  wild  scenes  of  suffering  and  torture  he  was 
to  endure  for  the  sake  of  Christ  in  the  dreary 
wilderness  of  the  west.  The  companions  of  his 
early  days  were  wandering  through  the  bright 
valleys  of  his  native  land ;  songs  of  joy  were 
upon  their  lips,  glad  music  ringing  in  their  ears, 
lovinir  hearts  and  tender  hands  around  them.  In 
his  ear  rang  the  yell  of  the  wild  Mohawk,  and 
the  hand  of  the  pitiless  savage  was  upon  him. 
Then  he  called  to  mind  his  solemn  vocation,  and 
devoting  himself  to  suffering,  clasped  his  hands 
towards  heaven,  and  struggled  on. 

"  Grant  me  strength  to  bear  my  cross,  O  God  !" 
he  said. 


106 


THE  RETURN. 


It ' 


i-' 


1^        ¥ 


The  novice  Iiad  already  reached  the  stream: 
he  Jiad  reeeivcfl  little  else  but  pa.ssiiig  blows,  for 
the  stron^r  Hurons  afforded  better  game  to  these 
himian  hunters.     The  younger  and  the  weaker, 
who  feared  to  grapple  with  the  stout  warriors' 
alone  pursued   him.     But  now  a  party  rushed 
towards  him,  and  in  an  instant  the  fainting  youth 
sunk  beneath  their  blows.    It  was  at  the  moment 
that  I.e  Loup  appror.ched   the  creek.     His  eye 
rested  upon  tlie  novice  as  he  fell  among  his  tor- 
mentors, and  he  dashed  through  their  midst  draw- 
ing them  after  him  in  the  race.     Rene  Bourdoise 
aro.<c— the  Indians  were  already  in  another  por- 
tion of  the  field,  and  he  passed  the  stream,  and, 
painfully  toiling  up  the  hill,  touched  the  war- 
post.     At  length  the  chase  began  to  flag,  and  Le 
I.oup,  having  succeeded  in  doubling  on  his  pur- 
suers, leaped  up  the  hill  to  the  goal.     The  last 
Huron  soon  came  in. 

The  overthrown  squaws,  bruised  and  beaten, 

gathered  round  the  group  of  captives,  and  with 

loud   imprecations   menaced  the   cause  of  their 

misfortunes  with  the  vengeance  of  the  tribe. 

"Ah!"  said  one,  "wait,  when  the  Huron  is 


THE   RETUPy. 


107 


bound  to  the  post  and  the  flames  are  kindletl 
around  him,  we  will  torture  the  dog  till  he 
screams  with  pain." 

"  Yes,  the  Mohawk  women  will  make  the 
Huron  warrior  yell  with  the  torment,"  and  the 
fiends  shouted  in  anticipation  of  the  sacrifice. 
Le  I^oup  looked  calmly  on  and  smiled. 

The  prisoners  were  again  bound,  and,  the  cer- 
emonies attendant  upon  the  return  of  the  war- 
party  having  been  gone  through,  were  placed 
under  a  guard  in  the  council-lodge,  while  the 
warriors  dispersed  through  the  village,  each  with 
his  band  of  friends  and  admirers.  A  portion  of 
the  war-party  belonged  to  another  village ;  these 
were  entertained  with  dances  and  feasting  until 
towards  evening,  when  they  took  their  departure 
for  their  own  homes,  contrary  to  their  usual  cus- 
tom, lea\  Ing  the  prisoners  at  the  first  village  to 
be  disposed  of  by  a  joint  council  at  some  future 
day. 


CHAPTER   VITT. 
BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 

rrE  fprcst  to  the  nortli  of  the  villacrc  was 
filled  with  undergrowth,  and  was  wild 
. ,     ""'^'^  ^«^^y^  rising  at  times  into  hills  of 
considerable  size,  which  swept  gradually  down 
until  they  melted  in  the  gentle  asecnt  upon  wlueh 
the  Mohawk  village  stood.    Towards  the  elose  of 
the  day  which  Iiad  been  signalized  by  the  return 
of  the   war-party,  a  solitary   Indian   cautiously 
made  Ins  way  through  the  thick  bushes,  replacing 
cyery  leaf  and  branch  in  its  position,  and  cover- 
ing each  footstep  as  he  passed.     His  course  was 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  wildest  of  the  hills 
As  he  proceeded,  the  ground  became  more  broken 
and  rocky  until  a  huge  Ui}.^  rose  abruptly  in  the 
forest,  jutting  almost  over  the  summits  of  the 
'"""■  '''^^  ^^  tii«  ciiir  he  paused  for  a 

108 


no  L'o 


BAPTISM   ly  nOXDAOE. 


109 


moment,  and  siirveyotl  the  face  and  summit  of 
the  rock.     He  seemed  satisfied,  and  moved  along 
the  base  of  the  ledge  until  he  reached  a  part  that 
was  less  precipitous,  and  was  covered  with  bushes 
and  creepers  growing  out  of  the  many  crevices 
and    spots    of  earth    upon    its   sides.     Here    he 
paused  for  a  moment,  and,  having  made  a  low 
signal,  which  was  answered  from  above,  began  to 
ascend.     A  little  distance  from  the  summit,  the 
rock  receded  until  it  opened  into  something  like 
a  cave,  which  was  completely  hidden  from  below 
by  the  bushes  and  wild  vines  in  bloom,  which 
here  clustered  thick  upon  the  side  of  the  ascent. 
At  the  farther  end  of  the  recess  sat  two  figures, 
silent  and  motionless;  their  rifles*   were  lying 
near  them.     The  Indian  entered   and  took   his 
seat   by  his  companions;    at   length  he   spoke, 
pointing  with  his  hand  over  his  shoulder  towards 
the  village. 

"  The  Hurons  and  the  blackgown  are  in  the 

*  This  term  has  been  used  throughout  this  story:  per- 
haps musket  would  have  been  more  correct,  though  at  the 
date  of  the  story  fev  Indians  were  possessed  of  tire-arms  at 
all.  The  Mohawks  obtained  them  at  an  earlier  period, 
having  been  supplied  by  the  Dutch  traders. 
10 


110 


BAI'TISM   IN    BOND  AGE. 


I 


I  ■  i. 


I 


council-lodge.     No  more  gauntlet;  tlie  warriors 
from  the  other  villages  liave  gone,"  lie  said,  and 
held  up  the  fingers  of  both  hands  twice  to  indi- 
cate  their   nunil>er.     "So   many  braves  at   the 
village,"  and   he  again  held   uj)  his  fingers  till 
they  indicated  forty;  "must  wait."    The  Jiurons 
assented,  and  Ahasistari  continued  :  "The  black- 
gown  i^  weak  and  bruised;  many  days  must  jmss 
before  he  can  travel  again   to  the  river.     The 
Hurons  must  tarry  till  they  can  go  tis  fast  as  the 
Mohawk,  or  the  foe  will  gather  from  the  tribes 
and  follow  on  the  trail." 

At  length  one  of  the  Hurons  spoke:  "Watook 
may  collect  the  biives,  and  be  here  in  another 
sun." 

"  Quickfoot,"  said  Ahasistari,  "  it  is  better  that 
he  should  lie  out  with  the  warriors  some  distance 
in  the  forest.  There  is  a  little  stream  a  day^s 
journey  from  the  village  of  the  Mohawks;  we 
crossed  it  on  the  trail.  Let  him  hide  upon  its 
banks.  If  he  come  nearer,  a  wandering  Mohawk 
miglu  strike  upon  his  trail,  and  then  all  hope 
will  be  lost.  We  cannot  attempt  a  rescue  until 
inr.  !.i„..,,^.^..,^.-  ^^„  DtivFig  enougu   lo  journey 


r* 


BAPTISM   IN  HO.\DAC!E. 


Ill 


' 


with  us.  Watook  and  his  braves  will  follow  the 
trail  of  the  Mohawks ;  Quiekfoot  must  retraec  it, 
and  meet  him.  lie  will  hid  him  to  remain  until 
Ahasistari  eonmiands  again." 

"Good,"  said  the  Huron,  and,  taking  up  his 
rifle,  wearied  as  he  was,  with  the  elastie  tread  of 
the  brave,  departed.     The  others  sat  still. 

Ahasistari  and  his  two  followers  liad  hovered 
around  the  trail  of  the  Mohawks,  but  as  the  foe 
was  very  numerous — about  fifty  warriors  in  all — 
had  not  obtained  a  single  opportunity  of  attemi)t- 
ing  the  rescue  of  the  prisoners  by  artifice;  of 
course  force  was  out  of  the  question.  It  now 
became  necessary  for  the  chief  to  delay  his  opera- 
tions for  the  reasons  which  he  gave  his  followers, 
and  also  in  the  hope  that  the  number  of  the  war- 
riors at  the  ^  illage  might  be  reduced  by  some 
new  expedition,  and  thus  afford  a  favorable 
opportunity  of  making  an  assault,  with  what- 
ever braves  Watook  might  bring  up,  to  whom 
he  could  at  any  time  transmit  his  orders  by  his 
remaining  companion.  In  the  meantime,  too, 
some  chance  of  a  successful  stratagem  might  pre- 
sent itself)  and  he  determined  to  watch  the  vil- 


112 


BAPTISM   /y  BOND.iGE. 


\ 


Hi 


la^'c  closely  to  secure  if  possible  the  escape  of  his 
fric'iuls. 

When  the  Mohawks  had  aj)proach('il  the  end 
of  their  journey,  tlic  Hurons  forsook  their  trail, 
and  struck  off  through  the  forest  to  the  hills, 
amon^  which  they  were  now  concealed,  havino* 
perceived  them  on  their  path  from  the  summit  of 
a  distant  elevation.  The  track  of  a  fox  led  them 
up  the  \vi\^t  of  rocks  to  the  cave,  and  at  the  same 
time  gave  them  the  assurance  that  it  was  alto- 
gether unfrequented  by  their  foes.  Leaving  his 
companions,  Ahasistari  then  crept  stealthily  to- 
wards the  village,  and  reached  it  in  time  to  be  a 
witness  from  a  neighboring  thicket  of  all  the 
scenes  which  followed  upon  the  arrival  of  the 
war-party,  and  learned  from  a  single  glance  the 
condition  of  the  captives.  His  plans  were  formed, 
and  he  returned  to  the  rocks  to  carry  them  out. 
With  twenty  good  braves  he  would  not  have 
hesitated  to  attack  the  village,  knowing  the  vast 
advantage  which  darknass  and  surprise  give  to 
even  a  few  assailants  over  a  larger  number, 
mingleil  with  women  and  children,  and  unpre- 
pared for  battle.     The  village,  too,  was  not  de- 


BAPTISM   ly   DOXDAGE. 


118 


fended  })V  any  stockade  or  fortification,  for  such 
was  the  terror  of  the  ^^()ha^vk  name  that  few  of 
tlieir  enemies  dared  to  set  foot  upon  their  territory. 
But  Ahasistari  deemed  it  more;  prudent  to  jM)st- 
pone  the  attempt,  judojin^,  from  the  departure'of 
the  braves  of  tlie  neighboring  village  without 
carrying  with  them  a  portion  of  the  prisoners, 
that  for  the  present  they  were  in  no  danger  of 
public  execution.  Such,  however,  he  knew  to 
be  the  passionate  cruelty  of  the  Iroquois  that  any 
one  of  them  might  be  sacrificed  at  a  moment. 
This  danger  couid  not  bo  avoided. 

The  night  that  followed  was  a  festive  one  in 
the  village  of  the  Mohav/ks.  Long  continued 
were  the  rejoicings  of  the  people  over  the  valor 
of  the  braves,  and  it  was  determined  in  council 
to  dispatch  runners  to  Fort  Orange  whh.  a  portion 
of  the  booty,  wdiich  had  been  large,  to  procure 
"  fire-water "  from  the  traders  for  a  solemn  fes- 
tival over  the  victory.  In  the  midst  of  all  this 
joy,  many  sleepless  hours  had  passed  over  the 
heads  of  the  two  Frenchmen.  Sore,  bruised, 
suffering  intense  pain,  unable  to  lie  at  ease,  slum- 
ber long  delayed  to  shroud  their  weariness  in 
10*  H 


|; 


■A  ■ 


114 


n A  rris.H  / a^  // o y n a  h e. 


4 

If' 


I ; 


5  *  I 


I 


oblivion.  At  length  it  carno.  Tlio  Iliirons, 
after  tlu'  pmycrs  of  the  ni^lit  liad  Ir'cii  said,  soon 
yielded  to  HltH'p,  accustf)ined  as  they  were  to  eatch 
re|)os(?  in  any  attitii<le.  Day  broke  ^ayly  over 
the  village,  and  the  rays  of  the  bright  sun  stole 
in  through  the  ehinks  of  the  eouneil-lodge,  and 
rested  in  golden  streaks  upon  the  hard-trodden 
earthen  floor.  As  the  luminary  rose  higher  in 
the  sky,  a  l)eain,  playing  through  a  narrow  ere- 
viee,  crept  slowly  over  the  pale  laee  of  the  young 
novice.  Hu  lips  were  drawn  apart,  a  fixed  ex- 
pression of  pain  dwelt  upon  his  features,  and  his 
heavy  and  disturbed  breathing  denoted  the  fever 
that  raged  in  his  veins.  lie  slept  on  ;  the  joyous 
ray  playing  upon  his  sad  features,  myriads  of 
motes  holding  their  gay  revels  in  its  beams. 
Near  him  slumbered  Father  Laval.  The  Hu- 
rons  were  stretched  around  upon  the  floor  in 
deep  sleep.  At  the  door  of  the  lodge  sat  the 
guard,  his  head  resting  upon  his  knee,  and  his 
quick  eye  occasionally  scanning  the  slumberers; 
but  for  its  motion  he  would  have  seemed  as  rapt 
in  sleep  as  they.  Time  passed  on ;  the  sounds 
without  told  that  the  village  was  again  all  alive, 


n  A  FT  ISM  ry  hokdaoe. 


115 


ami  ()iM»  by  oiu*  the  Huroim  awoko  from  their 
h)njr  repose,  and,  stretching  tlieir  eriunped  liinhs 
as  Ix'st  tliey  niight,  arose  to  a  sitting  [)osturc. 
A  singh^  ghmee  of  liis  eye  wius  all  the  notiee  the 
guard  deigned  to  bestow  upon  their  nioveinentH. 
The  two  Frenelunen  still  slept  on.  At  lengfh 
Father  Laval  awoke.  For  a  moment  he  gjized 
around  unable  to  reali/o  his  situation  ;  then  turn- 
ing himself,  he  endeavore<l  to  kneel;  the  eilort 
was  painful,  but  he  succccde<l.  Kene  IJourdoisc 
now  oiKmed  his  eyes,  but  he  was  unable  to  move. 
'*  Do  not  seek  to  rise,  my  son,"  said  the  Jesuit, 
"you  are  too  weak;  the  prayer  of  the  heart  is 
aeeeptable  to  Go<l,  whether  you  kneel  or  not." 
Then  Father  Laval  addressed  the  Ilurons:  "  My 
children,  from  the  midst  of  our  sufferings  let  us 
cry  out  to  heaven  for  mercy,  not  for  the  bodies 
which  are  of  earth  and  perishable,  but  for  the 
souls  which  are  immortal,  undying.  Let  us  be- 
seech our  heavenly  Father  to  accept  our  sufferings 
here  in  atonement  through  the  blood  of  his  Son 
for  the  sins  of  our  past  lives.  Let  us  not  repine. 
We  suffer  —  4t  is  for  the  greater  glory  of  God.' 
He  will  draw  good  for  us  out  of  this  evil.     Let 


I 


i 


m 


116 


liAPTISM   ly   BOX  PAGE. 


*i 


UH  pray  ;  let  us  join  in  spirit  with  our  hrotlircn 
of  the  mixHion  of  St.  Mary  in  the  holy  wierifice 
of  the  altar." 

The  Indians  listened  in  silenoc,  and  the  .Jesuit 
prayed  aloud.  Many  moments  passi'tl  thus  in 
holy  prayer  and  meditation.  Streams  of  heavenly 
consolation  seemed  to  pour  down  uj)on  the  priest 
and  his  little  floek.  Rapt  in  holy  ahstraetion, 
their  sufferings  were  all  forgotten  ;  and,  seated  in 
heart  at  the  foot  of  the  Saviour's  cross,  their  own 
Borrows  dwindled  into  nothingness  in  the  con- 
templation of  his  infinite  passion.  Then  the  stern 
spirit  of  the  Ilurons  melted,  and  the  enduring 
warrior  became  the  contrite  penitent. 

"  The  anger  of  the  Iroquois  is  unsparing,  my 
father.  Death  may  be  ours  at  any  moment," 
said  Le  Loup,  as  the  consoling  prayer  was  endcnl. 

"True,  my  son;  let  us  prepare  to  meet  it;" 
and  the  Indian,  moving  nearer  to  the  priest,  begim 
his  confession.  It  was  done ;  and  the  Jesuit  pro- 
nounced the  words  of  absolution  in  virtue  of  that 
power  committed  by  Christ  to  his  church,"  Whose 
sins  ye  shall  forgive,  they  are  forgiver." 

•*  Go  in  peace!''  said  the  priest,  and  another 


n A  PTisM  I .V  // o s n  A  a  t: 


1!7 


aixl  riiiothiT  cafiu*.  Often  Ix'fon'  luui  tln'se  (  Inix- 
tiai)  HUVJij^t's,  in  their  uii.sopliisticateJ  naturr,  made 
jmhlic  eonfession  of  tlieir  faults,  seeking  to  lium- 
l)le  tlieniMelves  Ix'fore  heaven  and  earth,  and  thii.s 
to  nhow  the  Hineerity  of  their  rejM'iitance  and  to 
do  penanee  by  mortifying  tlieir  pride  aixl  self- 
love:  now  therefore  they  did  not  heed  the  presence 
of  their  brethren.  Two  there  were  who  were  yet 
ind)aptized,  two  neophytes  lon^in^  for  the  re<leein- 
in^  waters  of  the  purifying  saeranient.  In  turn 
they  knelt  and  confessed  themselves,  and  besought 
baptism.  Alas !  the  good  priest,  bound  hand 
and  foot,  without  a  drop  of  water,  was  unable  to 
administer  the  sacred  rite. 

The  pious  occupation  of  the  prisoners  was  at 
length  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  warrior, 
who  was  soon  followed  by  another.  It  was  not 
long  before  a  numl>er  had  gathered  in  the  lodge. 
One  of  the  Mohawks,  at  length,  approached  the 
Jesuit,  and  loosed  the  cords  that  bound  him  ;  then 
he  relcitsed  the  young  novice.  Father  Laval  sat 
still  for  some  moments,  endeavoring  to  overcome 
the  stiffness  of  his  limbs.  Whilst  he  remained  in 
this  position,  an  ludiau  Oiitcrea  tiiQ  iouge,  Lxjuniig 


118 


liAl'TISM  IN  BONDAGE 


in  liis  liand 


an  ear  of  corn  upon  t!ie  stock,  which 


* 


I  < 


he  had  just  plucked  ;  he  threw  it  to  tlie  Jesuit. 
The  sunlitrht  j)hu-cd  upon  it  as  it  lay  —  and  see! 
U})oii  its  silken  l)eard  and  broad  bhide  chin<^  little 
dr(»j)s  of  (lew  * — sparkling  and  glistening,  like 
jewels  in  the  light !  Ah  !  far  more  precious  at  that 
moment  than  all  the  diamonds  of  Goleonda !  — 
There  was  enough  to  baptize  the  two  captive 
Hurons.  Taking  it  up  carefully,  he  arose,  zeal 
and  joy  overcoming  pain  and  weakness,  and 
knelt  above  the  prostrate  neophytes. 

"O  my  children,  the  hand  of  the  ever  merciful 
is  with  us.  Kneel  —  kneel !"  and  in  the  wild  forest 
lodge,  made  holy  as  God's  temple  by  the  prayers 
and  sufiferings  of  his  faithful  children,  with  the 
Christian  Huron  and  wild  Mohawk  lookino-  on. 
without  sponsor,  with  no  lights  but  God's  own 
sunlight,  with  no  incense  but  the  ineffably  sweet 
incense  of  humble  prayer,  before  the  altar  of  the 
heart,  the  priest  admitted  the  rejoicing  neo{)hytes 
into  the  fold  of  Christ,  into  the   household  of 

*  This  incidcut  is  related  of  Father  Isaac  Jones,  while  a 
captive  among  the  Mohawks,  by  liancroft,  almost  in  the 
worils  used  above.     See  Bancroft,  vol.  iii.  p.  183, 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


119 


faith,  sprinklinjr  the  pure  dew  of  heaven  upon 
their  ui)lifted  brows.  Wondrously  solemn  was 
that  simple  baptism  in  the  wilderness  ;  in  the  midst 
of  trials  and  sufferings,  in  the  face  of  death.  No 
swelling  organ  arose  over  the  sacrament ;  no  swing- 
ing bell  pealed  out ;  no  white  robe  upon  the  neo- 
phyte, but  the  stainless  one  of  purity  of  heart ; 
no  vestment  on  the  priest  but  the  martyr's,  stained 

with  blood. 

"Come  sorrow;  come  death,"  exclaimed  the 
Jesuit ;  "  I  will  heed  them  not,  O  God  !  for  of 
thy  mercy  there  is  no  end." 

Scarcely  had  he  finished  before  an  Indian  sum- 
moned him  to  follow  him.  Father  Laval  left  the 
lodge.  A  group  of  boys  were  gathered  before  the 
door,  and  watched  the  priest  with  interest  as  he 
passed  through  them,  but  did  not  molest  him. 
His  conductor,  crossing  the  open  space  around  the 
lodge,  turned  his  steps  towards  a  tent  at  the  end 
of  the  village  near  the  forest.  This  rude  dwelling 
of  the  savage  was  constructed  of  poles  sunk  in  the 
ground,  in  a  circle,  with  their  tops  bent  to  a  com- 
mon point  and  fastened  together.  Over  this 
frame  was  stretched  a  canopy  of  buffalo  skins, 


s 


--L.IJ,.'  -JU 


r 


I 


120 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE, 


stitched  together  with  thread  made  of  the  teudona 
of  the  deer.  It  was  large  and  commodious,  and 
betokened  Hie  wealth  and  "landing  of  its  owner. 
In  front,  the  two  ends  of  the  covering  hung  apart, 
leaving  a  space  for  entrance,  which  was  usually 
closed  up  by  a  single  buffalo  ro])e  suspended  from 
a  cross  piece  above.  This  nas,  of  course,  raised 
to  admit  light  and  air.  The  tent  was  of  far  bet- 
ter order  than  the  lodges  around  it,  which  were 
rude  huts  covered  with  bark.  The  Indian  mo- 
tioned Father  Laval  to  enter.  Lying  on  a  couch 
of  skins,  the  Jesuit  beheld  the  young  chief  whose 
wounds  he  had  bound  up  on  the  field  of  battle. 
An  old  man  sat  near  him ;  it  was  the  father  of 
Kiskepila,  and  the  chief  of  the  village.  The  priest 
approached  the  couch  of  the  wounded  man  to 
feel  his  pulse,  but  the  old  man  waved  him  away 
with  a  motion  of  his  hand. 

''Pale-face!''  he  said  in  the  Huron  tongue, 
"you  are  the  foe  of  the  Mohawks,  and  yet  you 
sought  to  heal  the  wour.ds  of  Kiskepila." 

"  I  am  the  foe  of  no  people,"  replied  the  Jesuit, 
meekly ;  "  my  mission  is  to  save,  not  to  destroy." 

"  Thou  art  the  friend  of  the  Huron?"  said  the 
old  man  interrogatively. 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


121 


"Dost  thou  see  the  sun?"  said  the  priest. 
"  The  God  who  created  it  made  it  to  shine  alike 
upon  the  Huron  and  the  Mohawk.  Its  beams 
ripen  the  corn  in  the  country  of  the  Iroquois,  and 
in  the  lands  beyond  the  great  lakes.  Will  the 
Mohawk  veil  his  eyes  to  the  sunlight  because  its 
ravs  shine  upon  the  Huron  too  ?  "  The  Indian 
was  silent,  and  the  Jesuit  continued : 

"  ITie  Great  Spirit  loves  all  his  children,  the 
Mohawk  and  the  Huron  ;  will  the  wise  and  brave 
Mohawk  shut  his  ears  to  the  words  of  the  Great 
Spirit    because   the   Huron    has   already   heard 

them  ?  " 

"Pale-face,  the  Mohawk  listens  to  the  voice 
of  Owaneeyo ;  he  hears  it  in  the  forest,  and  in 
the  waters,  and  in  the  winds !  " 

"  The  Great  Spirit  has  taught  us,  sachem,  to 
love  those  who  hate  us  —  tg  love  all  men  — to  let 
our  hearts  shine  on  all  like  the  sun  of  heaven ! " 

"  Hugh  !  "  exclaimed  the  Mohawk,  "  does  the 
pale-face  speak  with  a  forked  tongue?  The 
Iroquois  strikes  his  enemy,  and  it  is  good!^^  and 
he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart. 

Father   Laval  paused   for   a   moment  ere  he 


11 


122 


BAPTISM  IX  BONDAGE. 


Ii! 


answered  this  appeal  to  the  natural  passions  of 
num  as  an  argument  against  the  truth  of  tlie 
Christian  doctrine,  and  then,  pointing  to  the 
wounded  man,  said :  "  Kiskepila  sought  the  life 
of  tlie  pale-faee  —  " 

"  And  the  i)aU'-face  saved  the  life  of  Kiskepila," 
interrui)ted  the  young  brave  in  a  tone  of  deep 
feeling.  "  The  words  of  the  blackgown  are  true. 
The  wolf  kills  the  deer,  the  bear  the  buffalo,  the 
hawk  the  dove,  and  the  Mohawk  his  wounded 
foe.  It  is  only  the  pale-face — the  blackgown  — 
that  binds  up  the  wounds  of  his  enemy.  His 
heart  is  gentle  as  the  summer  breeze!" 

Silence  ensued,  for  the  Indian  scarcely  knew 
how  to  receive  and  estimate  the  wonderful  mag- 
nanimity of  Christianity.  Kature  taught  hira 
to  do  good  for  good ;  to  return  good  for  evil  was 
a  new  thought  to  him^yet  it  awoke  a  slumbering 
chord  of  the  heart;  he  began  to  feel  the  sublim- 
ity of  the  precept,  and  was  silent.  At  this  point 
of  the  conversation  a  squaw  entered  the  lodge, 
bearing  several  cars  of  young  corn,  and  a  quan- 
tity of  beans  Avhicli  had  been  roasted  at  a  fire 
without,  and  placed  them  on  a  mat  upon  the 
floor. 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


123 


•  "  E;it ! "  said  tlie  cliief.  Father  I^aval  an- 
])r()a('lie<l,  and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
blessed  the  simple  provisions  wliieh  liad  been 
offered  to  him,  and  then  proceeded  to  satisfy  his 
famished  appetite.  Hitherto  he  had  been  fur- 
nislied  with  barely  enough  food  to  support  his 
strength,  for  it  was  a  common  mode  of  torture 
among  the  Indians  to  make  their  prisoners  pass 
days  and  nights  together  with  barely  enough 
food  to  sustain  life,  and  yet  inflict  an  incredible 
amount  of  suffering.  Yet  he  ate  moderately.  A 
gourd  of  water  was  placed  beside  him  —  he  had 
not  slaked  his  thirst  for  many  hours  —  it  was 
grateful  to  his  burning  lips.  Having  returned 
thanks  to  God,  he  arose  and  approached  the 
couch.  The  chief  again  spoke:  ^'The  pale-face 
made  a  sign  upon  his  forehead  ?" 

"  It  was  the  sign  of  the  cross,"  replied  the 
Jesuit. 

The  chief  nodded  his  head  afTirmatively.  "  I 
thank  the  Great  Spirit  for  his  gifts." 

Then  the  Jesuit  began  to  examine  the  wounds 
of  Kiskepila,  and  to  bind  them  anew,  all  the 
whilf  PYnlninintr  flip   mpanincr  nf  the   holv  svm- 


I*  > 
t 


124 


IJAI'T/SM  IN  BOND  AGE. 


, 


1. 1 

■4\ 


iJi.' 


i 


bol  whicli  lie  had  used  ;  liow  God  had  sent  hfs 
Son  on  earth  after  the  sin  of  our  first  parents, 
and  how  his  chosen  ])eo|)le  had  scourged  and  put 
him  to  death  uj)on  the  cross,  and  how,  ever  since 
tlien,  his  follinvers  had  used  that  sij^n  to  recall  to 
their  minds  the  recollection  of  his  agony  and 
death. 

"Ugh!  Dogs!"  exclaimed  Kiske})ila,  as  he 
shook  his  clenched  fist.  The  old  chief  listened 
Avith  a  look  of  incredulity. 

AV  hile  the  priest  was  speaking,  a  figure  glided 
softly  in  at  the  opening  of  the  tent,  and  crouched 
silently  in  an  ol)scure  corner  with  the  females  of 
the  family.  Morning  Flower  listened  :  she  could 
understand  but  little,  for  he  spoke  in  the  Huron 
dialect.  In  astonishment,  she  gazed  u})on  him 
as  he  tenderly  bound  up  the  wounds  of  her 
lover.  The  passion  of  the  previous  evening  had 
subsided,  and  she  remembered  with  a  sorrowing 
heart  that  she  had  tortured  him  in  the  gauntlet. 
Hers  was  a  gentle  spirit  in  spite  of  its  wild  edu- 
cation. She  arose,  approached  the  priest,  and 
looked  him  in  the  face ;  at  the  same  moment  the 


jrv/iiiij3     ;Tciiii^^i,    ^v/iii;.iiiQ 


_  _ _  *^w?i  1 1  f       ork 


wl    . 


■J 


B  A  P  TIS  M  IX  BOND  A  G  E. 


126 


"  Morning  Flower,  the  bluckrol)C  saved  tlie 
life  of  Kiskepila  when  the  Young  Eiigle  hud 
slain  his  people  —  the  HuronH." 

Tiieu  the  heart  of  the  woman  was  true,  and, 
in  spite  of  early  habits  and  barbarous  training, 
beat  there  as  nature  made  it.  A  gush  of  remorse 
filled  her  soul,  and  with  a  low  wild  cry  she  broke 
away  from  the  tent.  The  two  Mohawks  looked 
at  each  other  in  astonishment,  unable  to  compre- 
hend the  cause  of  so  singular  an  exhibition  of 
feeling;  and  the  elder  exclaimed  in  lovv^  tone, 
"Hugh!  Medicine!"  and  shook  his  head,  at- 
tributing the  action  of  the  girl  to  some  species 
of  enchantment  on  the  part  of  the  priest.  But 
Father  Laval  well  understood  it :  he  recognized 
the  maiden  who  had  so  relentlessly  pursued  him 
whilst  running  the  gauntlet :  yet  he  continued 
the  conversation,  without  heeding  the  circum- 
stance further. 

At  length  the  Jesuit  returned  to  the  council - 
lodge,  where  he  busied  himself  in  ministering  to 
the  wounded  Hurons.  Rene  Bourdoise,  released 
from  the  tight  bonds  which  had  been  so  painful, 


1-  -  -^_  - 


\AJ      t\j\j'\} 


11* 


I"" 


126 


£  A  P  TIS  M  IX  n  O  X  I)  A  G  E. 


ii 


had  rcnderetl  lilin  hclplesH.  With  a  totterinc'' 
step  ho  tlcsceiulcd  to  the  stream,  and  wiLshed  the 
blood  from  liis  faec  and  liands,  and  laved  liis 
BwoUen  feet.  The  eool  water  reiVcslied  and 
strengthened  him,  eahning  the  fever  of  his  veins. 
He  found  a  gourd  upon  the  bank,  and  tilling  it, 
bore  it  to  the  famished  prisoners  at  the  lodge. 
The  Jesuit  assisted  the  noviee,  unheeded  bv  the 
Mohawks,  who  listlessly  reclined  on  the  grass, 
oeeasionally  casting  a  glance  upon  the  prisoners, 
to  see  that  no  attem^.-t  was  made  to  loosen  their 
bonds. 

Towards  evening  the  Jesuit  again  entered  the 
tent  of  Kiodego.  Kiskepila  was  resting  in  a 
half  recumbent  position,  supported  by  a  pile  of 
furs  that  a  king  might  have  envied.  Many  days 
had  passed  since  his  wounds  had  been  received, 
for  the  march  was  long  and  tedious,  and  he  was 
now  recruiting  his  strength.  Father  Laval  again 
felt  his  pulse,  for  he  leared  lest  the  fatigue  of  a 
long  journey,  upon  a  rough  litter,  miglit  bring  on 
a  fever  which  would  prove  fatal ;  but  a  skilful 
preparation  of  draughts    from  herbs  and  roots 

rtn/l      T%»./-»TT/5»-«*-£«^l     l4-  .      4'1'>^      ^^-..^l-^ _j.*n       -_1 _         1 

sj.ii\^     ^iVV»^iivwvi   Ab  •     wliv;    OvAv.'lkiJ    Vriio     otiiii     Ciiiill   tiild 


BAPTISM  IX  BON  DA  (it:. 


127 


regular.  Then  ho  cntorcd  into  conversation  with 
the  young  hrave,  u.sing,  as  much  as  po.ssihle,  the 
Moliawk  tongue,  earnestly  seeUing  to  become 
familiar  with  it  for  ^' the  greater  glory  of  Go<l." 
In  the  tedious  and  painful  route  he  liad  caught  a 
knowknlgc  of  it  from  his  captors,  and  its  affinity 
with  the  Huron  tongue,  which  he  spoke  with 
ease  and  fluency,  enabled  him  to  make  rapid 
progress.  The  young  warrior  listened  to  him 
patiently,  but  as  soon  as  he  pauseil,  addressed 
him : 

"  Blackgown,  you  have  taught  me  that  the 
pale-face  loves  all,  and  forgives  those  who  have 
injured  him.  Morning  Fi  )wer,"  —  and  the 
young  maiden,  springing  up  from  a  group  of 
females  in  the  farther  part  of  the  tent,  ap- 
proached and  stood  beside  the  priest,  —  "  Morn- 
ing Flower,  w^hen  the  blood  of  Kiskepila  was 
flowing  from  his  veins,  and  his  heart  was  grow- 
ing cold,  the  hand  of  the  pale-face  stopped  its 
flow.  Blackgown,  Morning  Flower  is  the  des- 
tined bride  of  Kiskepila.*' 

The  priest  placed  his  hands  upon  the  head  of 


il 


123 


BAPTISM  IN  BOX D AGE. 


licavon,  uttered  a  prayer  for  the  wild  but  j^eutle 
spirit  iK'tore  him.  "()  God,  \rnmi  that  the  li^dit 
of  thy  faith  may  pierce  the  heart  of  this  uiitut(»red 
girl,  and  of  all  here.  Mary,  mother  of  the  sor- 
rowfid,  bring  these  wanderers  to  the  faith  of  thy 
8on  by  the  powerful  intercession  of  thv  i)ray- 
ers.'^  And  he  added,  in  the  Mohawk  tongue, 
**  Daughter,  peace  be  with  thee." 

Then  Father  Laval  began  to  discourse  again 
upon  the  subject  of  his  morning's  conversation, 
sj)eaking  in  the  ^lohawk  dialect  as  well  as  he 
could.  Kiskepila  listened  attentively,  and  the 
nuiiden,  seated  at  her  lover's  feet,  gathered  every 
word  that  tell  from  the  lips  of  the  priest. 

When  the  Jesuit  had  departed,  the  young 
warrior  conversul  with  Morning  Flower  upon 
the  discourse  which  they  had  heard,  explaining 
such  portions  as  had  been  uttered  in  the  Huron 
diale<*t,  and  wondering  over  that  which  was 
mysterious  and  difficult,  for  it  is  hard  to  express 
abstract  ideas  in  the  Indian  language.  The 
kindness  and  attention  of  the  missionary  had 
won  the  heart  of  the  young  Iroquois,  and,  find- 


.*^J    ^. 


k:_     ir/».         1     i     u 

iiio    OWii    iiic    Wliat     nS 


BAPTISM  /y  iioynAaE. 


129 


taujrlit  to  others,  iindor  tho  impulse  of  a  ^ratoful 
ftH!lin^,  he  lent  a  willing  ear  to  his  words.  Kis- 
kepila  had  a  clear  head,  and  the  very  faet  that 
the  Jesuit  faeed  ho  many  danj^ers,  and  endunnl 
so  much  toil  and  sutferin^,  to  preach  the  doc- 
trines of  his  reli^rion,  satisfied  him  at  once  of  the 
iipri^ditness  and  sincerity  of  his  motive's.  The 
skill  and  knowledge  of  the  Frenchman  proved 
to  him  that  he  was  no  ordinary  man,  and  he  in- 
clir  <1  to  lx}lieve  even  the  wonderful  tidings  he 
announced.  Yet  douhis  met  him  at  every  point 
as  he  thoujrht  over  the  strange  things  he  had 
been  told.  When,  therefore,  the  Jesuit  entered 
the  tent  on  the  following  day,  he  questioned  him: 

"  J51a(;kgown,  you  tell  me  that  the  Saviour 
died  and  wixs  buried,  and  that  on  the  third  day 
he  arose  again  from  the  dead.  I  have  never 
seen  the  dead  arise  —  how  can  I  believe  it?" 

"My  son,  it  would  have  been  no  proof  of  his 
divinity  if  rising  from  the  dead  had  been  an  ordi- 
nary occurrence.  But  he  is  God.  He  it  was 
who  made  the  law  that  all  men  should  die,  and 
that  law  he  could  suspend  or  alter.  As  man  he 
uicii  ]  iin  vjuu-iiian  nc  arcso.     i  he  people  oi  thy 


130 


Ji.il'TISM    J.y    JiOSDAGK. 


! 


if! 


Ill 


tril)C  Ik'IIovc  that  the  spiritH  of  the  (Icpartinl  do 
not  (lie  ;  <«n  not  the  (iod  who  prescrvc'H  tho  spirit 
pr('H<'rve  also  the  h<Mly,  and  ^ive  it  hack  to  lid*? 
Can  ho  not  at  a  word  hid  tlic  tonih  to  ojm'h,  and 
the  lifeless  corpse  to  live  and  breathe  a^ain?  Ah, 
my  son!  there  are  no  laws  to  hin<i  the  Omnipo- 
tent (iod  but  the  laws  of  his  own  mercy  and 
jtistice  and  eternal  providence.  He  has  Ih'cii 
please^l  to  listen  to  the  prayer  of  hi.s  !k  •  i!»le 
followers  upon  this  earth,  and  has  for  them 
wrought  miracles  almost  e(iually  wonderful, 
he  Bles.se<.l  Xavier,  on  the  shore  of  the  far  east, 
knelt  and  prayed,  and  the  ear  of  the  Almighty 
was  inclincil  towards  hini,  and  when  the  holy 
priest  stretched  forth  his  hand,  and  called  upon 
the  dead  to  come  forth  from  his  silent  grave,  the 
lifeless  sprung  up  into  strength  and  health  and 
beauty." 

A  deep  exclamation  of  surprise  broke  from  the 
lips  of  the  attentive  Indian,  whilst  the  women  of 
the  family  gathered  nearer  to  hear  the  words  of 
the  animated  speaker.  AVarmed  with  a  holy 
zeal,    the    Jesuit    continued     in    a    clear    firm 


vtm^c  . 


BAPTISM  IS   UOSDAQE. 


131 


"The  rcHnrn'i'tion  of  the  Saviour  from  the 
(Ic.ul  \v:ts  to  1)0  the  final  seal  of  salvation  ;  it  was 
to  open  the  way  for  us  from  the  tcwnh  to  heaven  !  " 

'I'hen  Father  Laval  went  on  to  tell  how,  aj^es 
Ix'fore  his  eomin^^,  the  mode  of  his  birth,  his  suf- 
ferinjr,  the  miraeles  whieh  lie  was  to  perform,  hid 
passion  and  his  death  had  Ikhmi  foretold,  and  how 
exactly  they  had  been  aeeomplishe<l  ;  and  he 
8umme<l  up  all  the  evidences  of  Christianity, 
while  the  youujjj  \\arrior  listemnl  attentively, 
often  Ixiwiiig  his  head  in  token  of  assent. 

"  Yes,  it  must  l)c  true,"  he  siiid  at  length,  after 
the  Jesuit  liad  eonelu<led:  "Kiskepila  must 
believe." 

Thus  Father  Laval  souj^ht  every  opportunity 
to  impress  upon  the  mind  of  the  younj^  warrior 
the  truths  of  Christianity,  and  the  relation  whieh 
existed  between  them  made  the  young  Iroquois 
listen  with  a  docility  unexampled  among  that 
fierce  race.  Whatever  the  young  man  learned 
he  was  sure  to  communicate  to  Morning  Flower, 
who  soon  began  to  seek  occasions  of  conversing 
with  the  priest,  and  listened  with  admiration  to 
his  uucouuta  of  the  splendor  of  the  cities  o\  i  »*},uce, 


132 


BAPTISM  IN  BOX D AGE. 


t 

I'M 


:|h 


ff" 


and  the  number  of  their  inhabitants,  things  like 
.'le  wonders  of  fairy  tales  to  her  unsophisticated 
imagination.  With  these  accounts  the  priest 
always  mingled  descriptions  of  the  splendid 
churches  and  of  the  gorgeous  ceremonial,  of  the 
sacred  rites  performed  within  them,  to  the  honor 
and  glory  of  God,  and  explained  them  to  the 
maiden  as  well  as  he  could  in  his  imperfect  knowl- 
edge of  the  language.  Then,  leaving  these  sub- 
jects, he  would  converse  upon  the  moral  relations 
of  Christian  society,  instruct  her  in  the  duties  of 
woman,  and  teach  her  the  oblif^ations  of  reliirion, 
the  sanctity  of  marriage,  and  the  beauty  and 
holiness  of  purity  of  heart  and  body.  Morning 
Flower  drank  in  his  words,  and  kept  them  in  her 
heart.  But  this  was  the  work  of  days.  In  the 
meanwhile  the  village  was  filled  with  various 
accounts  of  the  conversations  which  the  priest  had 
held  in  the  tent  of  Kiodego  —  how  he  had  spoken 
of  wonderful  and  mysterious  things,  and  how  he 
had  said  that  the  fathers  of  the  black^own,  in 
times  not  long  gone  by,  had  called  the  dead  from 
their  tombs.  These  reports,  increased  and  dis- 
torted as  they  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  cast 


BAPTISM  IN  I3  0XDAGE. 


133 


a  s 


pocies  of  awe  around  the  j)ric.st  in  the  eves  of 
many.  He  began  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  niagl- 
eian  or  medicine  more  powerful  than  their  own. 
Yet,  unconscious  of  all  this,  the  humble  Jesuit 
pursued  his  labors  with  increasing  assiduity. 
12 


Ml  ^ 


fit    < 


CHAPTER  IX. 
'    THE    CO  UNCIL. 


[VERY  ni«^]it  Fatlier  Laval  and  the  nov- 
ice had  been  bound  and  confined  witli 
the  other  prisoners  in  the  lodge.  In  the 
meanwhile  Rene  Bourdoise  began  to  gain  strength, 
for  Morning  Flower,  compassionating  his  suffer- 
ings, extended  her  kindness  towards  him,  and 
sup})lied  him,  as  well  as  Father  Laval,  with  food, 
in  addition  to  that  distributed  by  tlieir  captors. 
A  little  gentle  exercise,  and  hours  of  rest,  assisted 
natnre  wonderfully  in  her  recuperative  efforts : 
but  althougli  the  two  Frenchmen  recruited  each 
day  in  health,  they  were  still  sul)ject  to  all  the 
petulant  cruelty  of  the  Iroquois.  Still  it  was 
only  that  common  torture  which  every  captive 


1    ^        X  - 

V\  US    iiiuvii.     'J 


.1 1. 


;4-^^ir" 


. Iivltl£ii    -iiL't-il/    iii    iLoUii* 


134 


!!. 


THE    COIXCIL. 


135 


(Iwiiullcd  away  into  littleness  when  met  by  their 
boundless  patience  and  tranfiiiillity  of  heart. 

A  week  had  passed,  but  there  seenieil  to  be  no 
disposition  on  the  part  of  the  Mohawk  warriors 
to  leave  their  village  even  upon  a  hunting  ex- 
pedition. It  was  the  corn  moon,  and  plenty  sur- 
rounded them  —  and  the  Indian  is  always  satis- 
fied if  the  present  moment  be  provided  for. 
They  were  awaiting  the  return  of  the  runners 
with  the  fire-water  from  Fort  Orange.  Towards 
the  evening  of  the  sixth  day  these  messengers 
came  back  unexpectedly  to  the  village,  having 
met  a  Dutch  trader  some  days'  journey  from  the 
village,  and  purchased  from  him  the  necessary 
supply.  It  was  now  determined  by  the  braves 
that  a  council  should  be  held  on  the  following 
day  to  decide  upon  the  fate  of  the  prisoners ;  and 
a  portion  of  the  fire-water  was  set  aside  for  the 
carousings  which  would  follow  upon  such  a  pro- 
ceeding:. A  runner  was  therefore  at  once  dis- 
patched  to  the  village  which  had  joined  in  the 
war-party,  inviting  the  presence  of  a  deputation 
to  assist  at  the  council. 

TTo <-»->/-» i-»     T.oi'ol      i«rV>/-k     Mo/I      n\fc\n(\\r    vrififn/"!    ^f\    flio 


136 


THE   COUNCIL. 


r 


council-lodge,  watched  these  proceedings  with  a 
troubled  eye;  he  saw  bustle  and  preparation,  but 
was  unable  to  conceive  its  object.  Le  Loup  sat 
coldly  watching  the  movements  of  the  Iroquois, 
knowing  too  well  wliat  was  likely  to  ensue.  The 
Jesuit  at  length  turned  an  inquiring  eye  upon 
him,  and  questioned  him  : 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  all  this  commotion,  my 
son?" 

^' Firc-tcatcr  ! '^  said  Le  Loup,  sententiously. 
"  The  runners  have  come  back  from  the  traders, 
and  the  Mohawk  will  be  crazy  to-night  —  he 
will  kill  if  he  can." 

"If  he  can?  —  alas!  there  is  nothing  to  pre- 
vent him ;  then,  my  children,  we  must  look  upon 
death  as  immediately  before  us,  and  be  ready  to 
meet  him  like  Christian  men ! " 

"Good!"  said  Le  Loup  emphaticiilly ;  "but 
they  will  not  all  drink — they  will  cast  lots,  who 
shall  be  guard — may  kill,  though.  It  is  good  to 
be  ready ! " 

At  length  the  council-lodge  was  closed  uj)  and 
fastened  firmly,  while  it  was  evident  to  the  pris- 
oners that  a  double  guard  was  placed  over  them, 


THE    COUNCIL. 


137 


to  protwt  thoni  from  any  attempts  which  might 
be  made  nirainst  them  bv  the  iiitoxieatetl  Indians 


in 


the  ti 


.f  th 


Th 


ithout 


bej^an  to  increase,  and  soon  bec^ame  uproarious. 
Tlie  greater  portion  of  tlie  intoxicating  li(juid 
had  been  carefully  concealed  in  order  that  it 
might  be  preserved  for  the  second  festival,  in 
pursuance  of  the  plan  adopted.  The  intoxica- 
tion therefore,  of  the  braves,  scarcely  reached 
to  that  point  of  frenzy  when  the  whole  passion 
of  the  savage  is  aroused  and  nothing  but  blood 
will  satisfv  him.  Yet  now  and  then  an  Indian, 
more  excited  than  the  rest,  would  approach  the 
lodge  with  reeling  step,  but  flashing  eye,  and 
endeavor  to  force  his  way  to  the  prisoners ;  but 
the  strong  guard,  at  the  entrance,  always  baffled 
their  attempts,  and  drove  oft'  the  assailants  with 
good-humored  blows  and  laughter.  As  tho  arms 
of  the  drinkers  had  been  taken  from  them,  little 
danger  was  to  be  apprehended,  unless  they  should 
succeed  in  obtain inii;  them  again.  Night  came 
on,  and  by  the  light  of  the  tires  the  revellers 
carried   on   their  orgies.      The  blaze  falling  on 


12* 


1.  \^\X^     dliVi.     i.Xlv 


138 


THE   COUNCIL, 


II 


JH 


iowiA  behind  it  into  a  dark  shadow.  Most  of  the 
inli:il)itanfs  had  {^a'lhtTcd  in  the  open  space,  and 
were  occupied  in  ohscTvinjr  tlie  mad  antics  of  the 
(hiinken  Indians.  At  length,  wliile  tlio  carousing 
^vas  at  its  licight,  a  figure  shnvly  emerged  from 
the  edge  of  the  forest,  and  keeping  in  the  darkest 
sliadows,  outstretched  upon  the  ground,  coih'd 
ah)ng  slowly  and  cautiously  towards  the  lodge. 
Tiiere  it  rolled  up  close  beside  the  lower  logs  of 
the  rude  building,  and  even  to  a  searching  eye 
was  almost  indistinguishable  froni  them.  Tlius  it 
lay  for  some  time  motionless.  Le  Ix)up  had  just 
stretched  himself  upon  the  hard  floor,  when  he 
heard  a  low  sound  like  the  tickiuij:  of  an  insect  in 
the  log  near  his  head.  It  persevered  in  a  singular 
manner,  and  he  answered  it  with  a  like  sound. 

"  Huron  ! "  said  a  voice  very  low,  but  perfectly 
distinct — reaching  no  other  ear  but  that  of  the 
prostrate  warrior. 

"  Le  Loup!"  replied  the  other,  giving  his 
name. 

^^Good!"  said  the  other  voice,  which  the 
Huron  recognized  as  that  of  Ahasistari. 

*' Cojincil  to-niirht?"  asked  th.  chief  after  a 
pause.  ^ 


THE   COUNCIL 


139 


tl 


"  Xo  ;   to-inorrow  !"  said  Lc  Loup. 

"  Is  till!  blackj^own  strong  enough  to  travel  to 


le  rivcT  .'' 


•;" 


*'  Yes  !  l)iit  the  Mohawk  is  quick  and  watchful." 

"(an  the  Huron  escape  from  the  lodge  with 
tlje  help  of  Ahasistari?'' 

"  There  is  an  opening  above,  but  all  are  bound 
hand  and  foot." 

"  The  knife  of  Ahasistari  will  sever  the  cord" 
—  a  silence  ensued,  during  which  the  chief  was 
busilv  occupied  in  removing  a  l>lock,  which  filled 
up  the  space  betwec  two  of  the  logs  —  "let  Le 
Loup  lay  close,  so  that  the  knife  may  cut  his 
cord,"  said  Ahasistari,  as  the  block  began  to 
yield  to  his  efforts.  At  this  moment  two  braves 
of  the  guard,  fearful  that  some  of  the  carousers 
might  endeavor  to  do  mischief  through  an  open- 
ing in  the  rear,  passed  around  the  lodge  to  exam- 
ine it.  They  conversed  as  they  went  along,  and 
the  engrossing  topic  of  the  village  expectation 
filled  their  minds. 

"  The  pale-face  is  a  great  medicine,"  said  one ; 
"  the  braves  of  the  tribe  will  not  spare  him  in 

aU„ :i        c —  i.„  :n    ui-*_Ux  xi. : i 

tHiJ    CviiiiiUii         -    iUi     iiC    Vtlii      Mili^'llli    LiiC    K'KJlliilit^     iiUi'— 

vest,  and  cast  a  spell  on  the  hunting-grounds." 


Ill 


I     !     1 


^1      «! 


fil        t 


140 


TJ/J-:  C(H'Xi'iL. 


I|i"^ 


"The  l)itr  Jluron  will  he  tortuml,"  said  the 
other. 

*'  Vc's!  110  ()iK>  will  adopt  theiii,  and  they  must 
he  tortured,  tiie  d(>;^s  !  " 

"The  council  will  decide  tu-morrow  — Kiohha 
wishes  all  tu  he  tortured.  None  know  the  wishes 
uf'Kiodego,  and  the  war-chief  is  silent." 

The  two  Mohawks  now  stood  lor  a  moment 
almost  touchinir  Ahasistari,  who  lay  close  to  the 
side  of  the  lodge,  motionless  as  the  wood  itself. 
From  their  conversation  the  chief  gathered  that 
the  council  was  looked  to  with  great  anxiety,  as 
there  was  a  diversity  of  opinion  with  regard  to 
the  fate  of  the  Jesuit.  At  this  moment  a  wild 
yell  interrupted  the  two  JMohawks,  and  drew 
them  away.  The  carousers  having  exhausted 
the  liquor  set  out  ibr  them,  searched  for  the  re- 
mainder, and  having  found  it,  overpowered  the 
guard  and  bore  it  off.  The  Huron  chief  renewed 
his  efforts  with  more  hardihood,  when  he  was 
again  interrupted.  I'he  Indians  in  charge  of  tiie 
lodge  had  h^ft  it  unprotected,  and  hastened  to  the 
assistance  of  their  com})anions.  Several  of  the 
half  intoxicot*Hl   AJnlinwl-c  ^li'u/^«^t.«r.^,i    +1.:^    „„j 


Til i^:  corsciL 


141 


nislicd   towards  the   lodp^  in  a  l>(»,ly,  (IcttTininccl 
to  sacrilicc  the  prisoiuTs  upon  tlic  instant.     Tlie 
old  women  had  obtained  some  of  tlie  v\\\\\,  and 
now,  into   ieated,  they  joined    iiiriouHly    in    the 
revels,  till   the  oj)en  sj)aee  around   the  fires  pre- 
KMited  aseene  Worthy  of  ])an(Iemonium.   Tlie  li^rht 
of  tl>e  fires,  as  tliey  stirred   and  tossed   up  the 
brands,  fiashed  fitfully  upon   the  erowds  of  reel- 
injr  wretehes,  shriekincr   in   the  madness  of  ine- 
briety.    Here  Mere  groups  contending  with   the 
guards  for   the  last  remnants  of  tlie  fire-water. 
There  parties  of  the  revellers  fought  and  strug- 
gled in  harndess  fury  among  themselves.     The 
grave  and  solemn  Indian  warrior  was  transformed 
into  a  wallowing  brute;  some  sat,  like  grinning 
idiots,   gazing  with   meaningless    faces    into  the 
fires,    whose    glare    played    wildly    over    their 
crouching  figures  — whilst,  fiercest  of  all,  came 
on  towards  the  lodge,  the  few  bent  on  murder. 
They  had  reached  the  opening,  no  guards  were 
there ;  the  fastenings  were  yielding  to  their  hands. 
At  that  moment  a  powerful  figure  rose  up,  as  it 
were  in  the   midst  of  them,  and   mingled  with 
tiiciii.     Two  heavy  blows  from  his  stalwart  arm 


142 


Tifi:  couxcih 


ii 


brought  tlic  Inrciiio.st  of  the  rioters  to  the  ground  ; 
the  rest  fell  over  them  shoiitiii};  niadlv.  'J'he 
fi):;iir(?  drew  hack  hehiixl  the  corner  of  the  loduo^ 
lor  the  cries  of  the  party  had  attracted  the  ^uard, 
^vho  ran  in  streii):;th  to  the  .spot,  and  having  re- 
lieved th<'  prisoners  from  dan<^er,  wliicli  was  im- 
minent, remained  donbly  watchlid  at  their  posi- 
tion. In  a  moment  more  Ahasistari  {gained  the 
cd^e  of  the  forest  and  stood  awaiting  the  result. 
All  hojK'  (tf  escape  for  that  nijj^ht  was  cut  otK 
Some  of  the  guards  took  their  position  within 
the  hxlire,  while  others  destroved  the  rum  that 
still  remained,  as  the  only  means  of  quieting  the 
tumult;  and  one  by  one  the  revellers  fell  oil' into 
the  deep  sleep  of  intoxication. 

Ahasistari  returned  to  his  hidinj^-place  among 
the  rocks,  satisfied  tiiat  no  further  harm  would 
befall  the  j)risoners  until  the  council  should  de- 
cide upon  their  fate.  Of  the  doom  of  Father  La- 
val and  Le  Loup  he  felt  little  doubt,  and  he  could 
delay  no  longer  in  the  attempt  at  rescue,  but 
must  at  length  cast  all  his  hope  upon  the  hazard  of 
the  die.    He  must  win  all  or  lose  all.    As  Quiek- 

f'         i         Til       .._i 1-  „       .l...l„,l       i.l.„i.    1,«    ^^„^i. 
Out     iiivi      iiKJii     icluiii.    iiC     COiiCiiiLiC*.i      tlliii/    iiU    iXIUww 


TTTE   COVSriL 


143 


have  fallen  in  witli  WahM.k,  and  that  they 
awaited  Ills  coininands  at  the  aj)|)oint<d  spot.  U 
was  now  necessary  to  dispateh  the  reniainin^r 
Huron  instantly  to  l.rinir  n|>  these  warriors,  and, 
it  W(Mdd  even  then  occupy  them  until  the  evenin;r 
of  the  next  day  to  n  ach  the  nwVy  hidin^r-ph^.e 
of  their  chief  The  Hnron  set  out,  and  Aha^sia- 
tari  was  left  alone,      ile  knelt  and  prayed. 

Father  Laval  remained  some  time  al)sorl)e,l  in 
prayer    after   all   the   sonnds   without   liad   died 
away.      Of  a  stronj^  and   enduring   frame,  and 
used  to  hardships,  he  had  already  reeovere<I  from 
tlie  effects  of  the  long  and  painful  march  throngh 
the  forest,  while  the  novice,  though   mnch  im- 
proved, still   suffered  severely   from  his   labors. 
The  Ilurons,  all   along,  aware   that   their  chief 
was  hovering  about  them,  knew  that  any  attempt 
at  rescue  was  of  too  doubtful  result  for  them  to 
rest  a  h9pc  upon,  and  prepared  themselves  still 
more,  every  hour,  for  that  final  and  fatal  trial 
which   impended  over  them.      At  length  they 
gave  themselves  up  to  slumber   with    cheerful 
hearts,  trusting  in  the  goodness  and  mercy  of 
Oou. 


in 


I' ' 


144 


TiiK  corxcii 


fri 


Willi   morning  Ix'^aii  tlio  propuratloiis  for  tlio 
rnuMcil.       I  Im'  sulh'ii  cnMiitcnanccs  of  thos<'  wlio 
l»a«l   sliannl   (»v«'r  ni;^'lit  in  tlic  jlcltaiK-h,  ImxIciI  ill 
fur  (lie  prisoijcrs.      Many  a  s<'o\vliii<;  and  savauM' 
look   was  cast   upon   tluMii.      A    little  afhT   iKxm 
catiK'   the  (Icpiitatioii   from   the  iH'iL,dil)oriii^  vil- 
la;i(':   it  was  small,  ('om|)os«'(l  of  but  two  or  three 
luavcs,  tlu'  ^n-eater  portion  of  the  ^ueeessful  war- 
riors  having  ^one  out    with   their  share  of   the 
jjlunder  towards  Fort  ()ran<;e  to  exchange  it  for 
]>ow(ler,  lead,  rum,  and  other  articles  of  tralfK'. 
'i'he  deputies  were  receive<l  with  nuich  j)omp  and 
ceremonv,  and  rej^aU'il  with  the  best  fare  that  'he 
vilhiL^e  contained.      They   were  then   conducted 
to  the  council-h)d^e,  where  the  proceedin<rs  were 
opened    M'ith    ^reat   state   and    solemnity.      The 
elder   and    most    distinj^uished    braves     formed 
themselves  in  :i  circle  in  the  (;entrc  of  the  lod^'c ; 
beyond  thei.i   sat  the  less  notable  of  the  tribe. 
Each  one,  as  he  entered,  took  his  scat  in  order; 
profound  silence  rei<^ned  throughout  the  asseri- 
blage.      At  length   the  old  chief  arrived  —  the 
calumet  was  passed  around  —  and,  at  a  sign  frcm 
Kiode<'^o,  as  a  mark  ».>i  iiuiiui,  me  nravc  viivj  iiuu 


l|i!4 


Tiir  CO  rxrrr. 


U5 


Of)fnmaii(l((l  Jw  siurrssfiil  war-posts  arose  to 
nddn-ss  th.'fu.  Mi.s  vni(,.,  at  lirst  low,  sudl,.!  out 
as  lu'  pr<K'c«Ml»'<l,aii(l  Ills  ^vMim^  lH'<'aMHMWiimatr<l 
and  pi(lun'S(iu('.  A  rol)c  of  li-l.t  skins  was  ' 
l'a.s(rnr<l  around  his  waist  and  fell  Uv\n\v  Ins 
tlii^di;  a  «'<.IIar,  of  the  daws  of  the  wihl  Ix-ar, 
hnn;r  around  his  neck  ;  a  snake-skin  eneinled  his 
arm,  and  the  feathers  of  th<'  wihl  ea^^de  a(h)rned 
his  head.  His  face  was  hideously  painte<I. 
Streaks  of  black  and  re<l  were  drawn  from  his 
ears  towards  liis  mouth,  while  a  hroad  hand  of 
vermilion  extended  across  his  forehead  and  ()V(T 
his  eyes.  As  he  spoke  he  pointed  towards  the 
prisoners,  and  at  ]en<rth  sin^rled  out  tlie  Jesuit. 

*'  Why  has  Ijc  come  from  lijs  far  land,  from 
tlie  bones  of  his  fathers,  across  the  great  water 
to  tlie  hunting-grounds  of  the  red  men?  His 
people  have  settled  down  among  our  brothers  in 
the  north,  and  lo  !  they  have  made  them  women  ! 
They  have  turned  the  Hurons  to  dogs,  made 
them  forsake  the  Great  Spirit,  and  join  with  the 
pale-face  in  battle  against  their  own  kind  and 
color !  The  blackrobe  is  a  medicine ;  he  speaks, 
anu  v.aniora  v\ecp;  tin;  Hurons  are  his  slaves* 

13  a  ' 


146 


THE   COUNCIL. 


lie  is  a  great  medicine.     Wlmt  sliall  be  Jie  fate 
of  the  pale-faee?" 

The  chief  sat  down,  and   a  silence  of  a  few 
•  minutes'  duration    ensued.      It  was    broken    at 
length  by  a  warrior,  who  said : 

"Let  him  die!  Kiohba's  voice  is  that  the 
pale-face  die  at  the  stake.  His  enchantments 
have  destroyed  the  Ilurons,  have  driven  away 
the  buffalo  and  bounding  deer.  His  people  have 
swept  down  the  beautiful  forests  on  the  great 
river.  Kiohba  has  seen  him  make  that  sign 
upon  his  forehead,  which  our  white  brothers  of 
Fort  Orange  tell  us  is  a  folly  and  a  wickedness 
—  a  sorcery.  If  the  chiefs  spare  the  pale-face, 
he  will  soften  the  hearts  of  the  Iroquois  and 
weaken  their  arms  in  battle,  and  they  will  fall 
before  his  people,  and  become  slaves,  like  the 
Hurons.     The  pale-face  must  die  !  " 

Several  of  the  warriors  nodded  their  heads  in 
silent  approval  of  the  speech  of  the  brave. 

"  Let  us  keep  the  great  medicine,'^  said  one 
who  had  not  been  of  the  war-party,  but  who  had 
listened  with  w^onder  to  the  reported  conversa- 
tions of  the  priest.     *'  Let  us  keep  him  in  the 


THE  COUNCIL. 


147 


tribe.  Let  us  make  him  our  brotlior,  and  give 
Iniii  tlje  first  ripe  corn  and  the  fattest  of  the  deer  ' 
Let  us  build  him  a  lodge,  and  his  heart  will  love 
the  Moliawk  people,  he  will  strengthen  their 
arms  and  protect  their  villages!" 

A  smile  of  scorn  played  upon  the  lips  of  Ki- 
ohba,as  he  replied:  "  My  brother  is  a  cunnin<. 
counsellor;  he  is  wise  and  brave  at  the  council! 
fi-e !  Does  he  need  a  great  medicine  to  strengthen 
his  courage?  Kiohba  fears  not  the  medicine. 
He  has  met  the  Huron  and  the  French  in  battle. 
The  pale-face  must  die ! " 

Other  warriors  now  arose,  some  espousing  one 
side  and  some  the  other.  The  dispute  grew 
warm,  when  Kiodego  interposed  : 

''  My  brothers ! "  he  said,  "  it  has  been  de- 
manded, why  the  blackrobe  came  into  our  land, 
and  why  he  goes  far  into  the  wilderness  with 
the  Hurons,  scattering  his  spells  upon  his  path. 
Let  th'i  pale-face  answer !  Unbind  him,  and  lead 
him  forward."  A  young  warrior  hastened  to  re- 
lease the  Jesuit,  and  assisted  him  into  the  circle. 
^' Speak,   Tulhasaga!"*    said   the   old    ^hief 

*  "Morning-light  inhabitants." 


>^ 


148 


THE  COUNCIL. 


coldly,  as  if  he  had  as  yet  heard  nothing  from 
the  priest  concerning  the  object  of  his  mission. 
"Speak!  Why  coraee^  thou  to  our^  land? 
What  dost  thou  seek?" 

Father  Laval  bowed  his  head  for  a  moment  in 
prayer,  and  then  replied  : 

"  Chief,  I  seek  souls ;  I  came  to  do  the  work 
of  my  Master  ;  I  came  to  preach  another  faith 
in  this  land,  to  teach  and  instruct  the  ignorant. 
My  mission  is  one  of  peace ;  it  is  with  the  souls 
of  men,  and   not  their  bodies.     I  would  teach 
them  to  calm  their  passions,  to  cast  out  the  spirit 
of  evil  from  their  hearts  ;  to  walk  in  the  path 
of  justice  and  of  virtue.     I  came  over  the  stormy 
waters  to  bear  the  tidings  of  the  Gospel  to  the 
heathen,  and  to  plant  the  holy  cross  in  the  wil- 
derness.    You  ask,  with  what  object  I  was  going 
far  into  the  vest.     I  was  about  to  seek  new  con- 
verts to  the  cross.     But,  chief,"  —  and  the  voice 
of  the  missionary  swelled  out  into  its  fullest  and 
most  musical  tones,  entrancing  the  ear  of  the 
savage.     His  form  was  lifted  up,  and  his  hands 
outstretched  before  him.     "  But,  chief,  the  Great 
Snirit.  in   his   wisdom,  has   willed   it  otherwise. 


THE  COUXCIL. 


149 


From   my  path   to   the   Huron   countrv    he   has 
turned  my  steps  towards  the  Mohawk  vilhiircs  — 
and  here,  O  chief,  in  captivity,  submissive  "t^o  the 
will  of  my  divine  Master,  I  preach  Christ  to  the 
Inxpiois;    I    preach   Christ   crucified;    listen   to 
me  !  "     Deep  exclamations  broke  from  the  aston- 
ished   council,    but    they    awaited    in    patience. 
''You   are   in  darkness,  I  bring  you  li<rht !  re- 
ceive it!"     And    he   told   them  how  God   had 
created  the  world,  and  man  the  lord  of  all ;  of 
the  flill ;  of  the  redemption  ;  of  the  new  Gospel ; 
of  the  commission  to  his  apostles  and  their  suc- 
cessors, to  go  forth  and  "teach  all  nations,  bap- 
tizing them  in  the  name  of  the  Fatlier,  and  of 
the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost;"   how   that 
commission   had  been   sealed   by  miracles;  how 
the  blind  saw,  the  lame  walked,  and  the  dead 
were  raised  to  life  again.     And  then  he  painted 
before  their  eyes,  in  glowing  colors,  the  jovs  of 
heaven  which  were  reserved  for  those  who  should 
believe  in  Him,  and  love  and  serve  Him,  and  the 
fearful  torments  which  the  all-just  God  destined 
for  those  who  should    reject    and    disobey   His 
commands.     A  o-lPAni  of  ^.^A^^  i^,.  k..^k^  r„,'„-  .i 


150 


THE   COUNCIL. 


eyes  of  the  ITurons,  as  they  looked  upon  the 
astonished  Mohawks,  while  the  Jesuit  continued  : 
*'  This  is  the  relijjjion  which  I  preach ;  these  are 
the  glad  tidings  which  I  bring  you;  and  it  is  to 
announce  this  Gospel  to  the  children  of  the  wil- 
derness that  I  have  come  from  tlie  land  of  the 
east.  The  Great  Spirit  sj)eaks  it  to  you  by  my 
mouth  ;  listen,  and  believe ! '' 

Father  LaCal  concluded,  and  silence  reigned 
for  a  time  throughout  the  lodge.  At  length 
Kiodego  addressed  him : 

**  My  brother  has  spoken  well,  he  is  wise !  But 
be  tells  a  strange  tale,  how  shall  we  believe  him?" 

*'  He  s^Kiaks  with  a  forked  tongue,"  said  Ki- 
ohba ;  "  he  is  a  liar !  " 

"We  are  satisfied  with  our  own  God,"  ex- 
claimed another  — ''  the  war-god  —  Wacondah. 
The  God  of  the  great  medicine  has  made  cow- 
ards of  the  Hurons ;  the  God  of  tlie  Mohawks 
strengthens  the  arms  of  his  children  in  battle. 
The  Mohawks  want  not  the  God  of  the  pale- 
face." And  then  the  clamor  for  his  death  be- 
came louder,  while  the  advocates,  not  of  mercy, 
but  of  delay  for  expediency,  were  silenced.     The 


THE   COUNCIL. 


151 


fate  of  the  good  priest  seemed  already  sealed. 
Without  further  delay,  a  Mohawk  approached 
him,  and,  at  a  signal  from  the  chief,  compelled 
him  to  kneel,  and  began  to  paint  his  head  and 
face.     Then  a  shout  of  joy  broke  from  the  crowd 
without ;  for  it  was  tlic  mark  of  death  upon  the 
victim,  and  they  revelled  already  in  anticipation 
of  the  torture.     At  that  moment  a  slight  move- 
ment was  made  in  the  crowd  around  the  door ;  it 
swayed  forward  and  backward,  and    then   gave 
way,  leaving  an  opening  into  the  centre  of  the 
circle.       Leaning    upon    a   warrior,    Kiskepila, 
weak  and  tottering,  with  his  bandages  still  upon 
his  wounds,  pressed  forward  through  the  passage. 
The  ^-e  of  the  young  chief  fell  upon  the  group 
in  the  centre.     An   exclamation  burst  from  his 
lips.     With  the  mighty  energy  of  a  strong  spirit 
he  rose  from  the  arm  that  supported  his  weak 
form  and  strode  alone  into  the  circle.     With  one 
hand  he  cast  aside  the  Mohawk;    the  other  he 
rested  upon  the  brow  of  the  priest.     A  death-like 
stillness  reigned  upon  the  scene;  not  a  hand  was 
raised  to  arrest  his  course;  not  a  voice  was  up- 
lifted against  him.     Surprise  held  all  men  silent, 


152 


THE  COUNCIL. 


while  the  flashing  eye  of  the  young  warrior 
turned  from  face  to  face.  "  Kiskepila  is  a  chief/' 
said  the  young  eagle  of  his  tribe,  *'  who  will 
oppose  him?  The  Hurons  have  lied  before  the 
arm  of  Kiskepila!  Shall  he  have  no  voice  in 
the  councils  of  the  tribe?"  And  he  placed  the 
other  hand  above  the  head  of  the  kneeling  priest. 
"Shall  he  be  silent  when  the  boaster  is  heard?" 
and  he  pointed  to  Kiohba.  "  Kiskepila  asks 
the  chiefs  and  braves  to  spare  the  pale-face."  He 
looked  around  for  a  reply  —  there  was  none.  At 
length  Kiohba  said  coldly  : 

"The  chiefs  and  braves  have  spoken  ;  the  pale- 
face must  die.  See !  the  death-paint  is  upon  his 
brow."  ^ 

With  a  look  of  scorn  the  3"0ung  man  turned 
away  from  the  speaker  and  glanced  once  more 
around  the  circle.  The  features  of  the  stern 
Mohawks  were  unmoved-  they  were  silent. 
Kiohba  was  triumphing. 

"My  brothers !"  said  Kiskepila,  his  eye  light- 
ing up  again  with  indignation,  "my  brothers, 
Kiskepila  was  wounded  and  fainting,  and  dying 
upon  the  field  of  battle  j  and  the  pale-face  bathed 


THE   COUNCIL. 


158 


his  lips  and  bound  his  wounds.  Kiskcpila  owes 
a  life  to  the  pale-faco,  and  he  will  repay  it.  Let 
Kiohba  show  the  mark  of  a  Huron  on  his  breast, 
or  the  scalp  of  a  foe  at  liis  girdle." 

The  Indian  replied  not.  The  eyes  of  the  old 
men  turned  upon  the  Jesuit,  and,  with  an  excla- 
mation of  wonder,  they  looked  to  the  chief  of 
the  war-party,  for  confirmation  of  a  story  to  them 
so  strange. 

"The  words  of  the  young  eagle  are  true,"  he 
said;  "the  pale-face  bound  up  the  wounds  of 
Kiskepila ;  he  saved  his  life.  The  blackrobe  was 
a  dove  upon  the  field  of  battle— a  dove  among 
the  eagles." 

Silence  again  ensued.  The  Jesuit,  wrapped  in 
prayer,  scarce  heeded  the  scene  around  him;  but 
ever  and  anon  the  bright  eye  of  Le  Loup  would 
gleam  upon  him,  as,  with  liead  bent  forward,  the 
Huron  listened,  with  interest,  to  the  words  of  the 
young  Mohawk  chief. 

"The  council  have  spoken!"  said  Kiohba 
again,  fearful  that  a  change  might  take  place  m 
the   opinions  of  the  warriors,   some   of   whom 

seemed    to    lonn    fnw-Qf/la    fU^    Tr/^„.,^    ^1,:„a'.     ll  i.\.  . 


154 


TJIE    COUNCIL. 


council  have  spoken;  the  pale-face  must  die.  It 
is  ri«;ht;  for  the  spells  of  the  blackroU'  are  upon 
the  lieart  of'KLskepila;  he  has  made  a  Huron  of 
the  Mohawk." 

'^  You  lie,  dog!"  exclaimed  the  young  chief, 
fiercely. 

*'  The  tongue  of  Kiohha  is  not  forked,"  said 
tlie  other,  coldly,  feeling  the  advantage  which  he 
was  gaining,  through  the  generous  impetuosity 
of  his  opponent.  "  Let  the  chiefs  look  :  Kiske- 
pila  could  not  walk  alone  to  the  council-lodge ; 
and  see !  he  stands,  as  if  he  had  no  wounds  upon 
him  ;  it  is  the  spell  of  the  pale-face  medicine. 
The  blackrobe  must  die,  or  the  warriors  will 
become  women ! " 

The  old  men  shook  their  heads,  as  they  looked 
upon  the  upright  and  noble  figure  of  the  young 
brave,  while  the  bandages  were  still  fresh,  as  it 
were,  upon  deep  and  dangerous  wounds.  It  was 
the  energy  of  the  spirit,  not  of  the  flesh,  that 
sustained  the  chief.  The  eyes  of  Kiohba  gleamed 
with  joy,  as  he  saw  the  impression  he  had  made. 
The  young  man  again  spoke,  but  in  a  lower  and 
sterner  tone : 


THE  rnuxciL 


155 


"  Kisk(>pilu  owes  the  pale-fhw  a  life;  he  shall 
net  (lie!   Kiskepila  will  adopt  hin,  as  his  brother 
in  plaee  of  him  who  is  dead.     He  dc'ruands  the 
l)ale-face  tor  his  brother!" 

Kiohha  smileii  grimly,  as  he  replie<l,  pointinL' 
to  the  old  ehief:  -  The  father  may  <lemaml  the 
prisoner,  to  adopt  him  as  his  son.  Ixit  the  ehief 
speak;  will  he  take  to  his  lodge  the  soreercr, 
who  has  changed  the  heart  of  the  young  eagle 
who  was  once  the  truest  of  the  Mohawks?" 

Absorbed  in  anxious  expectation,  the  young 
brave  hmled  not  the  taunt.  The  old  man  was 
silent  for  a  moment,  then  raising  his  head,  re- 
plied firmly  : 

''Kiskepila  was  a  warrior,  a  Mohawk.  He 
has  tiiken  a  Huron  heart.  The  pale-face  has 
told  him  strange  tales,  and  he  has  heard.  The 
blackgown  is  a  .sorcerer.  The  father  of  Kiske- 
pila  will  not  claim  him;  let  him  die!"  The 
head  of  the  young  chief  sunk  upon  his  breast 
and  he  was  silent.  ' 

^'He  must  die!"  re-echoed  Kiohba,  and, 
tauntingly,  continued:  "He  tells  you  that  his 
God  raise/J  tlifi  dond  to  life  • 


...1...  ,1  _  _     1  _ 


156 


TllK    COl'XCfL 


call  up  tho  ^rcat  (liainpluin  from  the  toinli  to 
j>rot('(;t  his  pcnplc?  Let  uh  soe  wlu'tlicr  hi^4  GckI 
will  Have  tlic  palc-flu'O,  whon  the  tlainos  shall 
irlow  and  curl  around  his  white  liujhs!  " 

**  You  (letnaud  of  me  a  miracle!"  Father 
Laval  replied  gently  ;  *'you  eall  on  my  Cjiod  to 
raise  the  dead.  He  has  done  so;  he  can  doit 
again.  Ue  has  opened  the  silent  tomh,  and  hid 
the  tlead  arise  and  come  forth,  p;lowino;  with  life, 
and  health,  and  energy;  and  he  has  done  this  at 
the  prayer  of  his  holy  servants.  I  am  hut  his 
humhle  follower.  What  right  have  you  to 
demand  from  the  God  who  made  you,  a  sign 
and  a  miracle  in  testimony?  Yours  is  not  the 
prayer  of  the  willing;  it  is  the  seotf  of  the 
hater." 

The  indignant  voice  of  the  Jesuit  ceased. 
After  a  pause  of  some  moments  an  Indian  ap- 
proached, and  finished  })ainting  his  head  and 
face.  It  was  the  sign  of  final  condemnntion, 
and  was  received  with  exultation  bv  manv ;  vet 
there  were  not  a  few  who  began  to  entertain  an 
increased  dread  of  what  they  inmgined  to  be  his 
nower.      Kut    the    feelimr   of    the    council    was 


TlIK    COIWCIL 


157 


excitod,  althou^'h  tliat  aHscniMa^re  Htill  rctainod 
its  cnlrn  and  j^rave  aH|Hvt ;  .iiid,  with  hwi  little 
delay,  the  noviec  and  the  Ihiro'iH  were  also  ton- 
denniod  to  the  tc^rture.  Father  Laval,  Le  Loup 
and  two  other  Hurons  were  to  .sutler  on  the  mor- 
row, in  front  of  the  couneil-lod^re^  wiiile  Jiene 
IJourdoise  and  the  three  reniaininj^  Hurons  were 
to  l)e  tortured  at  the  other  villa^re.  'J'|„.  pris- 
oners received  their  doom  calmlv,  the  Hurons 
lookinjr  coldly  on  the  preparations,  which  were 
begun  at  once,  to  carry  out  the  sentence  of  the 
council,  whioh  then  broke  up. 

When  Kiskepila  found  all  his  efforts  fruitless, 
he  took  the  arm  of  the  warrior,  who  had  tussisted 
him  to  the  spot,  for  liis  strength  began  to  fail 
very  rapidly,  and,  in  silence,  returned  to  his 
tent,  determined  not  to  look  upon  sufferings 
which  he  could  not  prevent  or  alleviate.  Morn- 
ing Flower  awaited  sadly  the  termination  of  the 
council,  and  wept  over  the  fate  of  the  black- 
gown  ;  but  she  recalleil  to  memory  the  beautiful 
lessons  of  patience  which  he  had  taught  her,  and 
suppressed  the  manifestation  of  her  grief. 

~  i- 1, 


The     HurO'i     moee*^nQroi»    e\^     A  Iwio^o^-n*.:     r,4--.. 


•CJV 


14 


158 


TiiK  corxrir 


i 


din><tlv  tlirou^li  tlic  forest  in  tljc  direction  of  tl»o 
I)la<<'  wlu-n'  the  l)raves  were  supposed  to  lie  eoN- 
cealed.      The    slurs    wt..    shining    in    tlie    <lear 
lieavens,  and  an  oeeasional  glance  at  their  spark- 
ling orl)S  served   to    guide    his    path.      Up   over 
hil!   and  st<ep   ascent,   over  s\san>p   and    morass 
wejit  the  swift  Indian,  at  his  leaping  trot,  tireless, 
never  pausing.      Midnight  came,  and  the  runner 
still    pressed  on;    his  nioccasined  feet   springing 
yet  lightly  from  the  soft  turf,  as  he  hounded  on. 
Darkness  melted  slowly  into  the  gray  of  morn, 
and  nurning  hrighteneil   into  day,  and  yet  the 
Huron  speeded  on.     At  length  he  pausetl  upon 
the  summit  of  a   little  hill.     At  its  foot,  clear 
and   pellucid,  flowed  a   gentle  stream.     But  no 
trace  could  he  discover  of  any  living  thing  upon 
its  hanks,  or  in  its  surrounding  .^brest.     A  mo- 
ment more  his  eye  scanned  the  wood,  and  then 
d  .scended   to    the   water's  edge.     As   he   leaned 
upon  his  rifle,  he  carefully  observed  the  current 
flowing  by  him,  till  his  gaze  seemed  riveted  by 
a  floatitig  twig,  with  green  leaves  upon  it.     An 
eddv  whirleil  it  in  towards  the  shore,  and   he 
drew  it  towards  him  with  the  butt  of  his  rifle. 


Til K  CO  rxnr 


159 


The  fracture  (><'  tlio  hraiicli  wiw  fn'sh,  and  it  was 
evidently    torn,    not    hitton    olK     Swinjrln^r    |,irt 
rillc   into    tlio   liollow    of   his    arm,    the    n.   ncr 
tiirmHl    (linvtly   up   the   .stream,   taking  care   to 
leave  no  tracks  hcliind   hirn.     For  sonic  time  he 
procecilcd   on    his   course,  still   <ustin^r  -iii    occ:i- 
sional   ^rhmcc  at  the  forest  arouml  him,  and  on 
the  ^rround  Ix'forc  him,  watchinjr  for  tlie  marks 
of  a    trail.     Suddenly    he    paustnl,    and    looked 
intently  upon  the  jrronnd,  and  then  stooped  down 
to  examine  the  surface  more  closely. 
*'  Hugh  !  pale-face !  "  he  exclaimwl. 
The  step  was  turned  from  the  stream  ;  treading 
cautiously,  so  as  not  to  obliterate  the  trail.     He 
followed  it  back  to  the  water's  edge,  and  exam- 
ined the  bu^^hes  which  grew  there ;  they  were  of 
the  same  kind  as  the  brarch  which  he  held  in 
his  hand.     Fulling  into  the  trail,  he  traced  it  up 
the  hill,  along  the  summit  of  which  it  ran.     At 
length  a  low  whistling  struck  upon  his  ear,  and 
lie  paused  to  listen;  and  then  crept  on  more  cau- 
tiously.    At  the  foot  of  a  large  tree,  on  an  ele- 
vated spot,  from  which  an  ext<}nsive  sweep  of 
the  forest,  faciner  towards  thp  \rnlinwL'  ,.;no^« 


am 


160 


THE    COUNCIL. 


\ 


was  visil)lc,  sat  the  figure  of  a  white  man,  hohling 
in  his  hand  a  hirge  rough  ox-liorn,  whicli  lie 
Mas  busily  engaged  in  shaping  into  a  powder- 
horn.  Every  now  and  then  he  compared  it 
with  the  one  whicli  was  slung  at  his  side,  and 
then  renewe<l  his  labors.  Suddenly  a  nesv  idea 
seemed  to  strike  him;  and,  putting  it  to  his 
mouth,  l\e  gave  a  blast,  which  made  the  Huron 
start  with  surprise.  Then  he  began  at  once  to 
sliape  the  small  opening  into  something  like  a 
mouth-piece.  At  last  he  seemed  satisfied,  and 
putting  it  to  his  lips,  sounded  it  again. 

"  Ha !  that  will  do  !  "  he  said  at  length  ;  "  good 
idea ;  Indian  hates  the  sound  of  a  horn,  and  I 
like  it.  Well,  I  may  want  it  soon;"  and  he 
stuck  it  in  his  belt.  As  he  did  so,  the  Huron 
runner  stepped  befoi.  him. 

"  L'Espion  Hardi !  "  The  scout  sprang  to  his 
feet,  grasping  his  rifle. 

"  Ah  !  Huron  !  "  he  said,  as  his  eye  fell  upon 
the  dress  and  paint  of  the  Indian ;  and  he  re- 
sumed his  seat  again. 

''  Huron  ?    Yes !    No  Mohawk  !  or  "  — and  the 

nCiiUii   pOiiilCU   SigiiiliUUilliy     iw    iSi.-    -vciij^J-. 


THE   COUNCIL, 


161 


^^  Right,  Hurou!  I  was  making  a  powder- 
horn,  when  I  thought  of  the  trunipeta  of  Cham- 
plain,  ;is  iie  marched  to  battle.  Ah!  did  you 
ever  fight  under  Champlain,  Huron  ?  " 

''  No  !  the  chief  and  manv  of  the  braves  were 


''  Yes,  T  know  it,  Huron  !  Well,  it  came  into 
my  head  to  try  how  a  good  blast  would  sound 
in  this  old  forest.  It  was  rash,  I  won't  deny 
it,"  he  continued,  as  the  Huron  shook  his  head; 
^'  but  a  Frenchman  loves  the  sound  of  the  trumpet. 
Listen  now,"  he  said,  applying  the  trumpet  to 
his  lips  once  more;  but  the  Indian  placed  his 
hand  upon  it  and  said  : 

''  Baring  scout !  Mohawk     anter  may  hear !  " 
"Yes,  yes!    but    when  we  were   out  against 
the  Mohawks  with  Champlain,  he  let  them  hear 
more  of  it  than  they  liked." 

"  Great  biave  !  "  said  the  runner. 

"  Yes,  he  was  a  warrior !     It  does  me  good  to 

hear  his  name  shouted    in   a  brisk  chan>-e;    it 

helps  wonderfully,  although  he  is  dead  and  gone 

now.     Y"es,   he  was  a  man,"  continued   Pierre, 

SOrrO^vfllllv  •      ^^  -nn,   oiw.l>     .^-.^.^      :„      -11     ^1 

•        j  J       ^-•-  ~--i-^n  iiiaii   III   uii  liic  proviiicy 
14*  L 


162 


THE   COUNCIL. 


now,  or  those  rascally  Mohawks  would  be  taught 
a  lesson  worth  renienibering." 

"'  The  daring  scout  is  with  the  Huron  braves?" 
asked  the  runner. 

"  Yes !  and  1  suppose  you  are  the  messenger 
that  I  am  to  look  for?  "  The  runner  nodded  his 
head,  and  the  other  continued  : 

"  They  are  aeross  the  stream ;  let  us  go ;"  and, 
swinging  his  rifle  over  his  shoulder,  the  scout 
descended  the  hill  with  rapid  strides.  When 
they  approached  the  stream,  the  runner  glided  to 
the  side  of  the  hunter,  and  holding  up  the  broken 
twig  before  him,  said : 

'' Daring  scout  casts  a  trail  upon  the  water. 
Huron  found  this  far  down  the  stream." 

The  scout  looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  while  the 
runner  explained  himself;  and  then,  half  angry 
at  the  implied  reproach,  answered  : 

"  Well,  and  but  for  that  twig  you  would  not 
have  found  us  ;  you  missed  the  trail !  " 

"  I  crossed  it  in  the  night,"  said  the  Huron, 
''  but  not  far  off.  Up  or  down  the  stream,  the 
Huron  would  soon  have  found  it." 


THE   COUNCIL. 


163 


''or  you  would  have  been  here  at  once,  without 
striking  on  the  stream  below.  See,  here  is  one 
of  C^n'ekfoot's  marks  upon  this  oak;  he  follov.ed 
directly  upon  the  trail,  and  even  made  it  plainer, 
for  you,  by  these  gashes ! " 

"  -Bad  !  "  replied  the  runner  quickly  ;  "  Mohawk 
keen  eye  ! '' 

"  Xight  and  day,"  continued  the  scout,  ^'  we 
kept  watch,  by  turns,  upon  that  hill  which  over- 
looked the  path,  waiting  for  the  messenger,  whom 
Quickfoot  told  us  Ahasistari  would  send." 

"Huron!"  said  Pierre,  after  walking  some 
time  in  silence,  "have  you  seen  the  prisoners?" 

"  Yes,  from  the  woods ;  saw  blackgown  walk- 
ing about." 

"  Well,  i)erhaps  then  they  won't  attempt  to 
kill  them  yet,  and  we  can  get  there  in  time." 

The  Indian  shook  his  head,  and  said  -, 

"To-day  council;  to-morrow  torture;  daring 
scout  knows  how  it  is." 

"  Then,"  said  the  scout  sternly,  as  he  strode 
along  with  swifter  step,  "  then,  Huron,  there  will 
be  jit  the  dance  some  guests  not  invited." 

iCy  Hastened  on  in  silence,  until  they  reached 


T-! 


164 


THE    ((frXCIL. 


M 


the  place  of  conceal inont.  It  was  wi'll  chosen. 
in  an  extensive  thicket,  a  space  had  been  cut 
away,  and  here  the  warriors  were  lyin^  about  in 
groups  upon  their  bhinkets.  Exchuuations  of 
deli«rht  welcomed  the  scout  and  the  runner,  and 
the  whole  body  assembled  in  council.  The  run- 
ner explained  the  condiuon  of  things,  and  deliv- 
ered the  order  of  the  chief;  and  in  a  few  moments 
more  the  party,  nineteen  in  number,  took  up  their 
line  of  march,  throwing  out  active  scouts  in  ad- 
vance, to  guard  against  any  accidental  meeting 
with  the  Mohawks. 


m 


CHAPTER   X. 


THE   TORTURE. 

IMMEDIATELY  after  the  breaking  up 
of  the  council,  the  Mohawks  began  their 
preparations  for  the  coming  festival. 
Four  stakes  were  planted  in  front  of  the  lodge, 
and  piles  of  fagots  v/ere  gathered  in  the  forest. 
At  a  little  distance  beyond  the  first,  four  other 
stakes  were  placed,  to  which  the  prisoners,  whose 
fate  was  postponed,  were  to  be  bound,  that  they 
might  witness  the  agony  of  their  brethren,  and 
suffer,  themselves,  in  anticipation.  The  youths 
of  the  village  now  commenced  to  gather  about  the 
lodge,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  preliminary  torture, 
which  was  permitted  them  for  their  own  especial 
amusement,  and  to  practise  them  in  the  ways  of 
cruelty.     This   sometimes   endured   until   taken 

165 


166 


THE   TORTURE. 


V 


ill 


part  in  by  tlic  ])nivo.s,  when  it  did  not  cease  until 
death  brought  relief  to  the  victim.  Le  Loup 
aud  Father  I^aval  were  brought  fortli  aud  tied  to 
two  of  the  stakes,  and  the  ehiniorous  mob  liov- 
ered  around  them,  j)elting  and  annoying  them  in 
a  thousand  ingenious  modes  of  petty  torture. 
They  soon,  however,  became  mere  systematic, 
and,  drawing  oii'  to  a  little  distance,  practised 
upon  their  living  targets,  with  tiie  bow  and 
arrow,  and  the  tomahawk.  Le  Loup  stood  up 
with  the  proud  and  fearless  bearing  of  the  war- 
rior, his  steady  eye  gleaming  unmoved  upon  the 
flashing  weapon,  as,  hurled  from  the  skilful 
hand,  it  grazed  his  temple,  and  sank  quivering 
into  the  post  behind  him.  Another  and  another 
threw ;  it  was  a  desperate  game,  in  which  the 
winner  was  he  who  came  nearest  to  death  with- 
out touching  life.  Father  Laval  endured  with 
the  meekness  and  patience  of  the  martyr;  his 
eyes  were  upturned  to  heaven,  for  he  dared  not 
look  upon  the  hand  that  threw  the  coming 
weapon.  Kiohba,  the  Mohawk,  stretched  out 
upon  the  soft  turf,   watched  the  youthful  tor- 


TIIK    TORTURE. 


167 


gesting  to  them  some  new  mode  of  inrroa.sin«;  tlie 
sufTerings  of  the  \  irtims.     At  length,  as  his  jip- 
pctite  for  cruelty  became  excited,  he  arose,  and, 
seizing  one  of  the  tomahawks,  (h'ew  back  and 
hurled   it  at  the  Jesuit.     The  weapon  whistled 
througli  the  air,  and  struck  the  post  by  his  tem- 
ple, driving  a  lock  of  his  hair  into  the  wood.     A 
shout  of  delight  arose  from  the  crowd   at   this 
evidence  of  skill,   and  Kiohba,  raising   another 
weapon,  aimed  a  second  time  at  the  priest.     It 
struck  upon  the  other  side  as  truly  as  the  first, 
and  the  victim  stood  drawn  back  to  the  post  by 
his  own   hair.     Renewed  applause  broke  from 
the  youths,  and  each  one  endeavored  to  emulate 
the  skill  of  the  warrior.     After  some  time  they 
grew  tired  of  their  sport,  and  the  prisoners  were 
permitted  for  a  while  to  remain  unmolested. 

As  the  crowd  drew  away  from  the  spot,  the 
figure  of  a  maiden  glided  silently  to  the  side  of 
the  Jesuit,  and,  offering  a  cooling  draught  to  his 
parched  lips,  bathed  his  brow,  which  the  intense 
excitement   had   caused  to  throb  with  feverish 


pain. 


augei  irom  uver  tiie  far  waters,  Morning 


168 


THE   TORTURE. 


y 


FlowtT  thoii<^ht  once  to  avenge  npon  thee  the 
wounds  of  the  Young  Kagle.  But  blackgown 
has  pardoned  the  wrongs  of  the  Moliawk  girl. 
Thou  hast  toKl  us  of  the  glory  of  forgiving  and 
loving  our  enemies  —  Tulhasaga,  thou  art  the 
enemy  of  the  Mohawks,  but  Morning  Flower 
doth  not  hate  thee." 

*'  Heaven  bless  thee,  my  child,  and  lead  thee, 
through  the  merits  of  Him  who  died  upon  the 
cross,  to  the  way  of  salvation,  preserving  thee 
from  trials  and  sufferings,"  said  the  Jesuit,  sadly 
but  fervently. 

The  Indian  girl  placed  herself  upon  the  grass 
and  looked  up  into  his  face  affectionately,  as  if  to 
a  father,  and  said,  as  she  cauglit  the  mournful 
expression  upon  the  countenance  of  the  priest : 

"  Blackgown,  thou  hast  told  me  that  each  one 
shall  bear  his  ci  ,,ris,  as  the  Saviour,  of  whom  thou 
speakest,  bore  his.  Blackgown,  thou  art  bound 
unto  thy  cross  ! " 

In  a  moment,  the  sad  expression  passed  from 
the  features  of  the  Jesuit,  and,  with  a  holy 
enthusiasm,  he  exclaimed : 

"  Oh  God  !  in  the  midst  of  sorrow  and  tribu- 


THF    TORTURE. 


169 


laf  on,   thou    dost   send   down   consolations   un- 
speakablo  to  thy  servant;  by  the  month  of  this 
wihl  ni.aidon,  thou  hast  uttered  to  me  words  of 
sweet  and  savin^r  import;  thou  hast  strengthened 
me;  thou    hast  eonsoled.     Oh!    how   happy   to 
bear  my  cross,  to  suffer  — to  sufftr  for  thy  sake! 
Gentle  maiden  — woman  still!  woman  who  did 
not  shrink  from  the  cross  and  its  ignominy,  from 
the   shouts  and  curses  of  the   crucifiers !  woman, 
stiir  the  faithful  and  the  pure,  and  the  unswerv- 
ing!  woman,  the  holy,  holy  from  the  holiness  of 
the  stainless  mother,  pure  from  the  purity  of  the 
immaculate,  gentlest  of  God's  creatures  —  it  was 
given  to  thee  to  be  the  angel  of  mercy  and  the 
comforter  of  the  afflicted.      Kind  maiden,  thou 
hast  soothed  the  sad  spirit ;  may  the  mother  most 
pure,  the  ennobler  of  thy  sex,  the  ever  virgin, 
intercede  for  thee." 

And  then  the  spirit  of  the  captive  seemed 
wrapt  in  meditation,  and  he  stood,  with  eyes  cast 
upwards,  and  lips  moving  silently.  A  holy  and 
tranquil  glow  crept  softly  over  the  face  of  him 
who  awaited  a  death  of  horrible  torture.    Sweetlv 


it.      OTPW      111ir»n      flinf      r>r\nnfniiQnr»fi      fKrt      1> 

<->"       ■■  i        ■■■-■       •  ■-■•-■•■■-•-i".-ii.i:~j 

16 


170 


THE   TDliTl'lii:. 


1 J 

li 


!N 


ii 


prayer,  ami  hope,  and  joy,  spn-adiii^  (Vmii  fraturo 
to  feature?,  till  uotliiii^^  of  earth  was  \vi\.  Up- 
wards, upwards  soared  the  soul  upon  the  uiiijj;s 
of  love;  upwards  uutil  it  seenieil  already  to  he 
uiiugliug  its  whispered  orisous  with  the  straj^hic 
choir.  llast  thou  looked  upon  the  suidi^ht 
Htealing  ^t'utly  o'er  u  shadowed  spot?  Iliust 
thou  marked  the  sombre  cloud  disperse,  until 
nothiu*:^  hut  the  glad  skies  looked  <lown  upon 
thei'?  Hast  tliou  watched  the  shroudiusr  mist 
evanish,  or  the  pale  hue  of  sickness  hrighteu 
into  the  red  glow  of  health?  Thus  fled  sorrow 
and  sadness  from  the  captive's  face. 

The  untutored  maiden  looked  in  wonder  on 
the  change  wrougiit,  as  it  were,  hy  one  uncon- 
scious word.  Here  she  sat,  looking  fondly  up  to 
that  glorious,  heavenly  face,  (hatching  from  its 
pure  mirror  a  reflection  of  holy  thought.  Un- 
conscious the  Jesuit  stood,  visions  of  bliss  hovered 
around  him ;  the  gentle  zephyr  that  fanned  his 
cheek  seemed  beaten  on  it  by  the  wings  of  ser- 
f^P'^^;  j<^yous  songs  broke  upon  his  ear,  and 
clouds  of  incense  floated  sweetly  over  his  wrapt 
senses.      Heath  and   tf>rtnre  wero  l>f>fr>»v»  h«!^i    Ki^f 


n 


TIIH    TOliTlRR. 


171 


licavon    w.'iM  al)<)ve   him:  could    he   look   down- 
WMids  to  the  earth  and  its  H('c'tiii<(  torments?     () 
woiiderfiil  mis.sion  of  Cliristlanity !  which  came 
upon  earth  to  raise  man  far  above  the  very  sul)- 
limest   idea  of  the   heathen  (Jod,  to  inspire  him 
with   thon«rht  above  the   power  of  mortality,  to 
give  him  a  life  which  d(>ath  could  not  extinguish 
—  a  life  beyond  and  above  this  (>;irth— a  ray  of 
the  Spirit   of  (iod.     8till    unmov.d    the  Jesuit 
Ht(.od,  his   head    thrown    back  and  resting  upon 
the  stake,  his  body  supported  by  the  cords  which 
bound    him,   every   function    slumbering,   every 
encrg/  absorbed.     Ho  was  in  truth  only  an  im- 
prisoned soul.     Welcome  the  knife,  welcome  the 
torture,  welcome  death  by  fire,  by  steel,  by  slow 
delay,  for  the  spirit  is  away  upon  its  wings,  al- 
ready soaring  in  pre-enjoyment  with  the  blessed. 
What  are  a  few  short  hours  of  sufi'ering  to  the 
eternity  of  such  bliss?     Oh  yes!  now  welcome, 
Death!    for   thou   canst   only  be   the   usher  of 
eternal  life! 

Like  the  shadow,  when  the  sunbeam  has  passed, 
came  back  the  thought  of  earth  to  the  soul  of  the 
priest.  A  deep  sigh  broke  from  his  half  closed 
lips: 


172 


Tilt:   TORTTRE. 


!| 


! 


"  How  l(ni^!  ()  [x)nl !  how  lonj^!" 

Awe-stricken  nut  tlie  sluiplo  Indian  nuiiilcn,  lus 
slie  ^a/<'<l  upon  tlmt  countonjince  (.'flul^cnt  with 
ineflahlc  hiippincsH,  ^lowinj^  witli  uiu'jirthly 
U'auty.  With  parted  lips  and  fixed  eye,  she 
^azed  reverently  —  for  womin,  l)lesse<l  as  the 
instrument  of  the  jrreat  blessin;jj  to  man,  eatehes 
intuitively  the  beam  of  heaven's  light,  and  re- 
flects it  in  her  soul. 

'*  Mary  — !"  cxelainie<l  the  Jesuit,  and  the 
broken  aspiration  was  finished  unheard. 

"Mary!"  repcate<l  the  Indian  maiden,  in  her 
soft  and  musieal  aeeents.  "  Mary  !  "  There 
was  prayer  in  that  whispered  word  —  prayer  of 
the  soul  —  and  it  arose  from  the  wild  heart  of 
the  untutoreil  Indian  —  from  the  soul  of  the 
ecstatic  priest  —  "  Mary  ! " 

At  that  moment  came,  swelling  from  the  prison- 
house  of  the  captive  Ilurons,  the  sound  of  a 
Christian  hymn.  From  deep  stern  voices  came 
it,  but  the  melody  was  «ad  and  plaintive,  and 
varied  with  the  varying  measure  of  the  ri  -le, 
unpolished  verse. 


TIIK    TOUT  IRK. 

Hoar  mother,  hear ! 
Hear,  gu.-oii  of  t|„.  l.riKlit  an-l  l.lcusod  ! 

Now  timt  (Iciilh  in  lu-ur, 
Thr  priiyor  to  IImm>  fi.Mn»HH(  ,|  | 

Ilenr,  for  Jh«»  ilay  m  flvirij^, 

And  thy  poor  chiMron,  Hinliing, 

lli'.itMM-li  tliy  ni.l   ii,  liying. 

II»'ar  inotlur,  hear! 

Mother  of  merry,  honrl 
The  nun  on  eiirth  is  Hiiikinj^; 

Witli  mingled  hi.pe  Hmi  feiir. 
Thy  chihlreuH  heurtm  iire  shrinkinj?; 

Mother,  heed  the  Huneiing  child, 

Heiiten,  wounded,  bruiHed,  reviled, 

Tortured  in  the  forest  wihi. 

Mother,  mother  hoar  I 

Mother,  hy  Hi?,  blood! 
Mother,  by  thy  teiiiH  and  sorrow. 

By  the  earth's  redeeming  wood, 
Aid  us  in  our  strife  to-morrow! 

Win  from  thy  ftU-con.juering  Son, 

By  the  triumj)h  he  has  won, 

Grace  and  ntrength  to  gain  our  own. 
Mother,  mother  hear! 


178 


Softly  huslied   the  sotind   of  pniyer,  aiul   the 

lotcs  died  away,  but  the  stiii  ibrm  of  the  Indian 
15* 


174 


THE   TORTURE. 


n 


girl  scarce  moved  —  waiting  for  the  deep-toned 
music  to  awake  again.  It  came  not,  and  she 
murmured  in  the  air,  "  Mother,  motlier  hear ! " 

The  liaughty  bearing  of  Le  Loup  had  passed 
away ;  the  keen  eye,  tliat  had  gazed  unmoved 
upon  the  flashing  tomahawk,  was  dimmed  and 
softened  ;  liis  head  rested  upon  his  breast.  He 
was  wrapt  in  prayer.  He  was  the  savage  warrior 
no  longer,  but  the  Christian. 

xVt  length,  from  the  council-lodge  came  faintly 
swelling  the  voice  of  the  young  novice,  and 
alternately  responding  the  full  chorus  of  the 
Hurons.  They  Mere  reciting  the  litany.  Sadly 
struck  the  toiwis  of  hi-s  young  companion's  voice 
upon  the  ear  of  the  Jesuit.  They  were  weak 
and  trenmlous.  Morning  Flower  listened — was 
it  the  warrior'^  death-soag  ?  Never  before,  in 
the  villages  of  her  tribe,  had  such  chant  been 
raised  by  those  who  were  about  to  die.  The 
Jesuit  and  Le  Loup  joined  in  the  responses,  and 
the  solemn  ^^  Miserere  nobis '^  rose  distinct  and 
clcT.  The  maiden  hung  in  wrapt  attention  on 
the  alternate  sounds  of  many  voices  mingling  in 
heartfelt  prayer.  Thus  passed  the  autumn  sun- 
set. 


THE   TORTURE. 


176 


Ahasistari  sat  alone  in  his  rocky  hiding-place. 
Ever  and  anon  he  cast  a  meaning  glance  towards 
the  west,  where  the  sky  w^as  yet  tinged  with  gold, 
although  the  orb  of  day  had  disappeared.     Then 
he  restcHl  his  head  upon  his  knees  and  remained 
immovable.     His   rifle  lay  at  his  i^^i,  and  his 
remaming  arms  upon  it,  as  if  he  had  just  been 
preparing    them    carefully    for    immediate    use. 
Twilight  came,  still   the  chief  moved  not.     At 
length  he  arose,  and  approaching  the  entrance  of 
the  cavern,  looked  out  upon  the  forest,  listening 
intently  for  some  welcome  sound— nothing  struck 
upon  his  ear  save  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  and 
the  low  swinging  of  the  overhanging  branches. 
There  was  silence  in  the  vast  forest ;  the  hum  of 
the  little  insect,  as  it  uttered  its  evening  prayer 
was  the  only  sound  of  living  thing  that  broke 
upon  the  solitude.     For  a  moment  it.  seemed  that 
a  shadow  of  doubt  passed  across  the  brow  of  the 
warrior.     It  occurred  to  him  that  his  party  might 
have  been  cut  off.     He  could  not  doubt  but  that 
Watook  had  collected  a  force  and  followed  in 
pursuit;  and  that  Quickfoot,  his  first  messenger, 
had  fallen  in  with  them,  as  otherwise  the  sa^ja- 


'   i 


t[::H»! 


176 


TUE   TORTURE. 


cious  Huron  would  have  returned  days  ago,  to 
share  the  fortunes  of  his  chief.     Perhaps  his  last 
messenger  had  missed  the  trail  in  the  forest,  and 
for  a  time  the  chief  almost  regretted  that  he  had 
not  dared  the  risk  consequent  upon  the  conceal- 
ment of  so  many  men  near  the  village,  accom- 
panied, as  it  was,  with  the  advantage  of  thei. 
proximijty  in  case  a  sudden  opportunity  of  rescue 
presented   itself.     It  was  already  time  that  the 
party  should  have  reached  the  place  of  his  con- 
cealment which  he  had  designated  as  the  point 
of   rendezvous.     But    hours    might    yet    elapse 
before  the  torture  would  begin,  for  although  he 
did  not  know  the  exact  result  of  the  council's 
deliberatioLS,  he  felt  that  there  was  little  doubt 
of  the  condemnation  of  Father  Laval  and  the 
other  prisoners ;  and  that  their  lives  hung  upon 
a  thread  liiible  to  be  broken  at  any  moment  by 
the  whim  or  caprice  of  the  savages.     As  he  cast 
his  eye  around,  indistinctly  it  caught  the  radiance 
of  a  stream  of  light  illuminating  the  mist   that 
hung  above  the  village.     Taking  up  his  arms  he 
descended  to  the  forest  below,  and  a  liew  moments' 
walk  brought  him  to  a  place  whence  he  could 


M 


THE   TORTURE. 


177 


catch  a  g.inipse  of  the  lodges,  and  at  the  same 
time  be  near  the  path  to  the  rendezvous.  The 
glare  of  a  large  fire  Hashed  up  towards  the  dark- 
ening sky.  and  tinged  with  red  the  waving 
branches  of  the  forest.  Two  figures  were  still 
bound  to  the  stakes,  and  groups  of  boys  and 
men  were  loitering  about,  seemingly  awaiting 
some  approaching  event. 

^'The  Hurons  must  speed  on,  or  they  will 
coixie  too  late,"  exclaimed  Ahasistari  bitter.y,  as 
he  stretched  himself  upon  the  ground. 

The  fire  flashed  out  more  brightly  now,  for 
some  hand  had  cast  more  fuel  on  it;  and  the 
ligiit  of  th.^  flame  played  around  the  mild  face  of 
the  Jesuit  as  he  stood  bound  to  the  stake.  His 
high,  bold  forehead  seemed  to  catch  the  floating 
beams,  which  lingered  round  it,  like  a  saintly 
halo  of  com;.  \  ^h-^y.  Ahasistari  recognized  the 
form  of  Father  Laval,  even  at  th::t  distance,  and, 
looking  for  a  moment  in  silence,  exclaimed : 

''  They  will  come  too  late !  there  will  be  one 
more  stake  and  one  more  torture !  My  father,  I 
swear  to  thee  that  Ahasistari  will  share  thy  for- 
tune i,  whether  of  death  or  life ! ''  and  he  arose 

M 


fi 


178 


THE    TORTURE. 


and  turnetl  towards  the  village.  Suddenly  he 
paused,  and  east  his  eyes  to  the  northeiist  as  if  he 
would  penetrate  the  dark  veil  that  stretehed  Ixjf'ore 
him  ;  then  lie  laid  his  ear  to  the  very  ground  and 
listened.  At  length  casting  his  rifle  upon  the  sod, 
he  sat  down,  and  shrouding  his  face  in  his  hands, 
remained  still  and  motionless  as  a  statue. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  Mnhawks  were  about  to 
antieipate  the  hour  of  fnial  torture.  The  pris- 
oners were  brought  out,  one  by  one,  and  bound 
to  the  stakes  until  the  eight  were  occupied.  The 
crowd  began  to  increase,  and  new  fires  were 
raised.  The  women  gathered  the  fagots  nearer. 
Father  Laval  looked  sadly  upon  these  prepara- 
tions ;  but  the  Huron,  Le  Loup,  perceiving  what 
Avas  passing  in  his  mind,  said  in  broken  French : 

"  Not  yet,  my  father,  not  yet.  The  Mohawk 
is  not  so  merciful !  he  loves  hours  of  torture  !  ^' 

"Oh  God!  give  us  grace  to  die  worthily!" 
exclaimed  the  Jesuit,  and  then  resumed  his  silent 
prayer. 

Darkness  was  deepening,  but  the  lights  of  the 
blazing  fires  rushed  up  fitfully  to  heaven,  casting 
a  red  gleam  upon  the  scene  around,  and  making 


THE   TORTURE. 


179 


the  forocious  xMchawks,  a.s  they  flitted  about  in 
tlieir  ieli  work,  resemble  so  many  fiends  at  their 
infernal  orgies.     The  prisoners  were  stripped  of 
their  elothinor,  and  the  work   of  torture  began 
Snatching     up     burning     pieces    of    wood,    the 
savages  held  them  close  to  the  naked  skin  until 
Its  surface  blistered  with  the  slow  heat;  then,  as 
the  swollen  part  became  dead  and  senseless  to  the 
lesser  torture,  they  pressed  the  live  coal  into  the 
ra'Y  flesh  until  it  hissed,  and  fumed,  and  cracked, 
wlule  the  groan  of  intense  agony  arose  from  the 
lips   of  tae  white  sufferers.     The  stern   Indian 
endured  in   silence.     Father  Laval,  a.s  the  red 
cinders   pierced    his    flesh,  ele  ated   his  soul   to 
C^od,  and  dwelt  upon  the  sufferings  of  him  whose 
brow  had  borne  a  crown  of  thorns,  whose  hands 
and  feet  had  been  torn  with  nails,  whose  T>recious 
Side  had   been  opened  with  a  spear.      '^Je^is 
Mary,  and  Joseph,"  were  ever  on  his  lips,  and 
his  upraised  spirit  seemed  at  last  to  forsake  and 
leave  behind  it  the  sorrow  and  sufferings  of  earth; 
and  to  float  already  upwards  through  a  sea  of 
ineffable  delights. 

Rene  Bourdoise,  reserved  for  future  death,  did 


180 


THE   TORTURE. 


not  escape  from  present  torture.     His  tormentors 
surrounded  him,  and  forced  into  his  tender  skin 
small  splinters  of  pitch-pine,  and,  when  a  num- 
ber had  been  pressed  in  thus,  they  applied  blazing 
torches    to    the    parts   which    obtruded,  and  the 
dark    flame    ran    swiftly,   from    one  to  another, 
along    the   bristling   surface,  until    it    became  a 
mass  of  ^re.     In  vain  the  suftering  youth  strug- 
gled to  escape;  his  bands  only  permitted  him  to 
wind  round  and  round  the  stake ;  but,  whichever 
way  he  turned,  blows  met  him  or  blazing  knots  of 
pine.     Thus  eight  victims  suffered  —  ten    thou- 
sand deaths  were  they  enduring,  and  yet  so  skil- 
ful was    the    Indian    in    his  torture  that  death 
itself  could  not  relieve  them.     The  novice,  weak 
from    his   long   fatigues,  yet  sore   from   former 
wounds   and    sufferings,  at    length    became    ex- 
hausted, and  hung  supported  by  his  bands  aione. 
Father  Laval,  moving  in  the  midst  of  his  tor- 
tures around  the  stake,  began  to  pray  aloud : 

"  The  pale-face  warrior  sings  his  death-song," 
said  Kiohba,  "  how  many  warriors  hath  he 
slain  ?  How  many  scalps  has  he  taken  ?  He  is 
a   woman  !   a   slave !    a   dog ! "  and  the  shouts 


THK   TORTURE. 


181 

voice    of 


of  the    infuriat(Ml    mob    drowned  tli( 
the    priest. 

Jn  the  tent  of  Kiodecro,  the  chief,  sat  a 
wouiwkd  man,  faint  and  weak  ;  his  f.wn.  reclined 
a^rainst  a  pile  of  furs,  his  hands  covered  his  ilice, 
his  breathing  wius  (h^ep  and  stern,  hut  there  Mas 
no  other  mark  of  life  about  him.  At  his  feet 
sat  an  Indian  maiden —  Morning  Flower  was 
weeping  ! 

Still  on  rung  the  furious  shout  of  the  wild 
savage  — on  went  the  fearful  torture  — the  Hend- 
ish  dance  went  on.  But  loudest  of  all  arose 
above  the  tumult  the  shrill  voices  of  the  beldames 
\L^  they  gathered  around  Le  Loup.  The  Indian 
heeded  them  not;  he  was  preparing  himself  to 
die.  Then  for  a  time  it  seemed  as  if  the  frenzy 
of  the  Mohawks  was  dying  away,  but  it  soon 
broke  out  in  renewed  fury,  and  the  various 
crowds  drew  off  to  hurl  the  tomahawk. 

"See,"  said  Kiohba,  "how  a  brave  can 
strike!"  and  he  repeated  the  feat  of  skill  he  had 
before  performed.  With  a  laugh  of  scorn,  an- 
other Mohawk  stepped  forth,  and  brandishing 
his  weapon,  exclaimed : 
16 


I 


182 


THE    TORTURE. 


*'  Voii  Imvc  ^m/wl  his  hoad,  I  will  drive  tlie 
enrs  of  the  hlack^own   into  tlie  stake." 

The  Mohawk  aitiuHl  at  Father  Laval,  who 
pa/ed  upon  him  almost  uiiconseioiisly.  Tlic 
moment  was  one  of  deep  peril ;  no  matter  liow 
skilful  the  aim,  a  sudd(^n  motion  of  the  vietim, 
an  involuntary  start  would,  instead  of  mutilation, 
hrini^  death.  It  "was  a  feat  of  nice  and  preeise 
skill,  and  the  Mohawk  measured  his  distance 
cnrefuUy,  and  drew  back  his  arm. 

Suddenly  the  p(»al  of  a  rifle  broke  upon  the 
air,  and  then  another  and  another,  in  (juiek  suc- 
cession, flashed  fr<»m  the  forest,  and  a  wild  and 
exultini]^  shout  broke  out.  Down  came  the  fleree 
Mohawk  —  another  and  another  fell  —  whilst 
the  whole  northern  circle  of  the  forest  seenuHl 
bla/ino^  with  continuous  flashes.  Hushed  was 
the  voice  of  the  warri(»r  —  mute  the  shrill  ton<rue 
of  woman  —  terror-fitrickeri,  they  clustered  to- 
gether. Their  rifles,  a. id  bow«  and  arrows  were 
in  their  cabins:  there  was  a  scattering:  in  wild 
affrijrht  to  obtain  their  arms;  one  figure  alone 
sprung  towards  the  bound  prisoners,  tomahawk 
in  hand. 


]i 


183 


nt  from 


TUE   TOHTURE. 

Over  the  wild  peal  of  l)attlc  roso  the  firm  vo 
of  Ahasistarl,  and  the  Ilurons  s])run^r  o„t  fn 
their  covers  to  the  char^^,.,  to  strike  the  ell'-eti 
l)lo\v  l)er()re  the  Alohawlxs  eoidd  rally.  O 
the  iiiipeiietrahle  darkness  bounded  these  (hisky 
figures,  rushin^r  on,  with  wild  and  exulting 
shouts,  to  cut  off  the  entrance,  to  the  cabins ; 
one,  a  lithe  and  youthful  form,  shaking  fiercely 
over  his  head  his  small  steel  axe,  Icaj.ed  forward 
to  the  i)risoner8.  Watook  wa.s  rushing  to  the 
rescue. 

Kiohba  pressed  on  in  his  fell  purpose.  He 
reached  the  side  of  the  novi(.e,  he  wound  liis 
hand  in  his  long  hair,  he  bent  back  his  head, 
and,  glaring  fiendishly  iuto  Ins  face,  he  seemed 
to  make  him  die  by  slow  a/id  fearful  ag( my ; 
then  his  weapon  flashed  above  him,  and  came 
down  with  a  sullen  crash,  and  the  form  of  the 
poor  novi(re  sunk  lifeless,  supported  by  the  withes 
that  bound  him  to  the  stake.  Kiohba  unwound 
his  hand  from  liis  locks,  and  tore  the  scalp  from 
his  mauglecl  brow;  then  he  turned  towards  the 
Jesuit.  Le  Loup  struggled  to  burst  his  bands, 
but  his  iron  strength  would  not  avail  him;  in 


184 


TIIK    TOUT  I' UK 


helpless  a;:;<)ny  he  had  lookeil  on.     At  that  nio- 
meiit  a  well-known  voice  wvm  in  his  ear ;  a  Hiii;:;le 
heavy  stroke  fw»vere<l  the  cord  that  hountl  him, 
and    the    tall    llnron,    tossing    np    his    arms    to 
heaven,  its  if  ^loryin^  in  the  thought  of  freedom 
once  a^ain,  sprnn^  on  to  tlu;  resiMic.     The  fieree 
Mohawk  was  already  by  the  side  of  the  priest; 
his  arm  was  ontstretehed  to  aim   the  iatal  blow, 
v.hen    Le    Lonp,    like    a    wolf   upon    his    prey, 
hounded  on  him.     Down  eame  the  two  ])owerful 
savages  —  the   armed    and    the    unarmed  —  hut 
life  and  retribution  nerved  the  heart  of  the  Hu- 
ron,  and   strung   his  sinews.      The   weapon   of 
Kiohba  was  dashed   from   his  grasp  as  he  fell  to 
the  earth,  and    he   sought   for   the  knife   in   his 
girdle.     For  a  moment  it  seemed  doubtful  which 
would  conquer.     Over  and  over,  tlie  two  rolled 
swiftly  upon   the  ground.     At    length   the  hand 
of  Le  Loup  rested  upon  the  knife  of  his  foe;   in 
a  moment  more  it  gleamed  in  the  ligiit,  and  was 
buried  in  the  heart  of  the  Mohawk.     The  strong 
grasp   of   Kiohba  relaxed,   and,   casting  oil'  his 
nerveless  hand,  the  Huron  arose  from  the  fearful 
struggle.      80   rapid   had   it   been   that   the   lust 
prisoner  was  just  released. 


Tllf:    TOKTIHK 


186 


Father   [.aval  nwt  himscir  upon  his  ki 


neos  m 
i-..»^..,  ., iiiM    iiM-   miroiiM  cjin^iii  up  what  nrujs 
they  could  liud,  and,  h<a(hd  hy  I^'  I>oup,  (hLshtKi 
on  (owanl.H  the  spot  where  Ahasistari  and  his  fol- 
huvers  were  e(Mitendiu|r  with  .su|»erior  nun.lx'ra. 
'J'he   Maze  of  the  tires  east   a  f*earful    Jight  upon 
the  i)attie-seene,  seeuiin;,'  t«.  (h)ul)ie  the  numhers 
of  the  e<»ud)atauts,  and  to  swell   their  forms  iuto 
gi.-autie    sizo.      Two     powerful     Mohawks    were 
rushing  towards  their  <al)ius  for  their  arms;  the 
chi<f  of  tlie  Hurons  intercepted  them,     'i'he  first 
attempted  to  close  with  him,  but  a  single  blow  of 
tlie  tomahawk  stretche<l   him   lifeless  at  his  feet: 
tlu!  secoiul  was  upon  him  before  he  could  recover 
from   his  eflbrt,  and  aimed  a  stroke  at  his  head. 
The  Huron  Warded   it  skilfully,  and   they  closed. 
The   struggle   was    terrific,    but   was    short,   and 
Ahasistari,  as  he  (piitted  the  dead  body  of  the 
oMohawk,  cast  a  glance  upon  the  scene  of  battle. 
Fearful    had   been    the   first   onslaught  of  the 
Hurons.     They  had  met  their  foes;  as  in  panic, 
they  broke  away  towards  their  wigwams,  and   by 
the  fury  of  their  assault,  hail  driven  them  back 
to  the  open  space.     Here  they  began  to  rally  and 


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186 


THE   TORTURE, 


to   fight   with   something   of  their   accustomed 
bravery.     An  Indian,  taken  by  surprise,  cxv.  sel- 
dom recover,  and  the  Mohawks  wage<l  an  un- 
equal   battle  with   their   fierce   and   determmed 
assailants ;  but  for  their  superior  numbers,  the 
rout  would  have  been  instantaneous  and  terrific. 
They  began  to  rally ;  the  women,  and  children, 
and  old  men  appeared  upon  the  scene,  the  women 
bearing  thq  rifles,  and  the  bows  and  arrows  of  the 
warriol^s.     With  renewed  energy  the  Mohawks 
fought,  armed  as  they  were  with  tomahawks  and 
clubs ;  scarcely  a  shot  pealed  upon  the  air,  and, 
in  the  stern  battle  of  man  to  man,  no  cry  broke 
forth.     Suddenly   upon   the   stillness   came   the 
loud  blast  of  a  horn  from  the  southern  portion  of 
the  forest,  echoing  and  re-echoing  in  the  hills  to 
tlie  north ;  then  a  terrific  shout,  and,  high  above 
the  rest,  the  battle  -  cry —  "  Champlain  a  nous! 

Champlain!" 

Sweeping  down  the  sward  rushed  a  band  ot 
dark  figures  that  seemed,  in  the  flickering  light, 
of  countless  numbers,  while  the  loud  and  deafen- 
ing blast  of  the  horn  still  rang  on,  and  ever,  as  it 
pausf<i,  the  battle-cry,  ^^Champlain!  Cham- 
plain  ! "  broke  out. 


THE   TORTURE. 


187 


The  Mohawk  warriors  stood  aghast.     Had  the 
dead    really   arisen?     Had    the   great    medicine 
accepted  their  challenge,  and  called  the  mighty 
warrior  from  his  tomb  to  the  rescue?     Was  it 
a  ghastly   troop,   with    horrible   sounds  of  un- 
earthly import,  that  came  upon   them?     Their 
arms   dropped    nerveless,   and    they   paused    in 
their   onslaught  —  whilst    the   Hurons    renewed 
their    exulting    cries,    and    charged    once    more 
upon  them.     The  fire  now  gleamed  out  fiercely, 
stirred    by  a  passing  breath  of  wind,  and  the 
fitful    light   discovered    to   the   frightened   Mo- 
hawks the  face  and  form  of  a  white  man  bound- 
ing  forward,  and  waving   his  glisteniflg   blade 
above  his  head. 

"Champlain!  Champlain!  Mohawk  dogs!" 
shouted  the  figure  in  the  Iroquois  tongue,  as  he 
dashed  into  their  midst,  striking  down  the  first 
he  met,  with  'm's  long  and  curved  knife. 

**The  dead!  the  dead!  Champlain!"  ex- 
claimed the  paralyzed  Mohawks,  and  broke 
away  from  the  field  of  battle.  Women  and 
children,  old  men  and  warriors,  mindful  of  the 
scenes   of  the  council,   fled   wildly  oflP,  veiling 


!3BES 


188 


THE    TORTURE. 


their  eyes  from  him  whom  they  believed  to 
h;ive  arisen  from  the  tomb:  still  in  thgir  ears 
rung  the  cry  of  "  Champlain  !  Champlain  !  "  and 
the  relentless  Frenehman,  with  his  band,  smiting 
riglit  and  left,  pursued  them.  Terror  lent  wings 
to   their  speed,  and   they  scattered  deep   in  the 

forest. 

By  the  homes  of  their  early  years  — by  the 
council-fire,  where  their  fathers  had  sat  —  upon 
the  turf  where,  in  childhood's  hours,  llicy  had 
sported  —  still  gathere<l  a  stern  band  of  veteran 
J^Iohawks.     They  were  few  in  number  —  fewer 
than  their  foes  — but  they  were   true   and  un- 
yielding*braves.     For  a  moment,  when  the  rout 
began,  the  battle  had  ceased ;  and  the  two  parties 
now  stood  gazing  at  one  another  in  fierce  defi- 
ance.     The    Mohawks    were    armed   with    no 
weapons  but,  those  of  a   hand-to-hand    fight  — 
and    Ahasistari,  casting   aside   his   rifle  with   a 
noble  generosity,  sprung  forward  to  meet  his  foe 
upon  an  equality  of  arms.      Knife  in  hand  he 
grappled  with  a  warrior;  the  Hurons  followed 
his  example,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  seen  a 
struggling  crowd    of  indistinguishable   figures; 


THE   TORTURE. 


189 


here  and  there,  with  a  convulsive  spring,  some 
form  would  cease  its   motion,  and  lie  still  and 
silent  as  the  sod  it  pressed.     The  rest  still  strug- 
gled on.     At  length,  from  out  the  melee  crept  an 
unarmed  savage,  wounded,  coiling  himself  slowly 
along  tlie  ground  as  if  in  dying  agony.      lie 
reached  the  corner  of  the  lodge,  and  passing  he- 
hind  its  shadow,  sprung  quickly  to  his  feet.     1  lis 
eye  fell  upon  the  kneeling  figure  of  Father  La- 
val as  he  bent  him  over  a  dying  Huron,  and 
tearing  off  a  portion  of  his  belt,  he  stole  quietly 
behind  him.     In  a  moment  he  had  gagged  him 
—  in  another  he  was  hurrying  him  rapidly,  in 
spite  of  his  resistance,  from  the  spot.     The  priest 
attempted  to  cry  out,  but  it  was  in  vain ;  and 
casting  a  lingering  look  towards  the  group  where 
his  friends  were  fighting  within  reach  of  him  — 
yet  ignorant  of  his  danger  —  resigned  himself  to 
his  fate. 


CHAPTER  XL 
THE    WREATH   OF    WILD    FLOWERS. 


iil 


ii 


IHASISTARI  and  his  foes  were  Btrng- 
gling ;  the  combat  was  fierce ;  but,  one  by 
one,  the  Mohawks  were  overpowered  or 
slain,  and  the  Hurons  were  left  undisputed  mas- 
ters of  the  village.  The  noise  of  battle  had 
ceased ;  only  the  moan  of  pain  broke  the  stillness 
of  the  scene.  Few,  but  the  wounded  and  the 
dead,  were  there  besides  themselves.  Their  chief 
looked  around  in  vain  for  the  Jesuit  and  the 
novice.  He  called  out  their  names ;  they  did  not 
answer.  They  searched  the  village;  none  were 
there  but  the  feeble,  and  those  who  were  unable 
to  flee.  They  turned  in  sorrow  to  the  fires  of 
torture.  Bound  to  his  stake,  supported  almost 
upright  by  his  bands,  like  life  but  for  the  crushed 

and  bleeding  brow,  was  the  dead  body  of  the 

190 


TUE    WRRATff   OF    WlLn    FLO  HE  us.      IQI 

gentle   novice.     Softly  they  loosened   the  eords, 
softly  HH  if,  even  in  death,  they  wo.ild  not  ruflle 
the   placid   .sluniher  of  thoHe  pale  and   <lelirate 
featuiVH.     They  laid    him  down    upon   the  turf 
and  sou^d.t  again   for  the  JcHuit.     He  wan  not 
there.     Catching  uj)  a  burning  brand,  Aha.siHtari 
exannned   the  edge  of* the  forest;  suddenly   he 
uttered  a  low  exclamation,  and  darteil   into  its 
depths.     The   glare  of  the   torch,  as    its   flaine 
tossed  wildly  in  his  swift  course  flitting  pa.st  the 
dark  trunks  of  trees,  looked  like  a  red  meteor  in 
its  course. 

The  Hurons  silently  gathered  their  dead  from 
the  field,  and  laid  them  down  by  the  body  of  the 
young  novice.     Then   they  stood  around   them 
solemnly.     A  few  moments  passed  thus  in  stc-n 
meditation;   when,  gliding   noiselessly   into  the 
group,  and  i)ressing  aside  the  rest,  two  figures 
approached  close  beside  the  body  of  the  novice. 
A  low  but  joyful  exclamation  welcomed  them! 
Father   Laval   heeded   it  .not.     The  steel   axe,' 
which  Ahasistari   bore,   was  yet  dripping  with 
warm  blood ;   it  told  the  Hurons  the  story  of 
the  rescue.     One  by  one  came  back  the  scattered 
warriors  from  the  pursuit,  and,  last  of  all,  Le 


M.LJUli 


192      THE    WRFATII    OF    WILD    FLOWERS. 

I^up  and   Daring  Scout.     Father   I>aval  knelt 
beside  the  body  of  \\\a  young  companion  ;  tears 
dimmed  his  eyes,  and  the  voice  of  prayer,  which 
arose  from  his  lips  for  the  departed  spirit,  came 
broken    witli    sighs    and    indistinct    with    grief. 
Torches  of  blazing  pine^  placctl    by   the  silent 
Iliirons  at  the  head  and  feet  of  the  dead,  were 
sending  up  their  bright  flame,  capped  with  dark 
clouds  of  smoke — fit  emblem  of  the  life  of  man. 
Around  knelt  the  Christian  warriors,  mingling 
their  prayers  with  those  of  the  priest  of  God. 
The   countenances   of   the   Huron    braves   were 
stern  and  solemn ;   no  other   mark  of  grief  ap- 
peared upon  them.     Kneeling  at  the  feet  of  the 
departed  were  Lc  Loup  and  Watook,  and  behind 
them  the  stern  scout.     As  he  looked  upon  the 
pale  features  of  the  novice,  a  tear  stole  silently 
down   his    hard    and   weather-beaten   face,   and 
clung  amid  the  scarred  wrinkles  until  it  mingled 
with  the  air,  and  arose  to  heaven,  carrying  with 
it,  like  perfume,  to  the  skies  the  unspoken  prayer 
of   the    melting   heart.     L'Espion    Hardi   was 
thinking  of  the  gallant  sou  whom  he  had  thus 
buried    in    the    forest.     A    hand    touched    him 


TBB    WREATH  OF    WILD   FLOWERS.      193 

lightly  upon  thcshouWor;  when  he  looked  up, 
Ahas.«ten  stoo<l  beside  him,  an.l  beckoned  him  to 
follow  h,m.  After  they  h„,l  gone  some  di.stanee 
from  the  spo  the  ehief  pause<l,  and,  pointing  to 
the  group,  said  :  're. 

"  L'&pion  Hardi  is  of  the  ra«!  of  the  palc- 
tace.  It  becomes  him  to  look  to  the  burial  of 
h.a  dead  See!  the  good  blackgown  is  wrapt 
in  sorrow!  the  words  of  the  chief  would  disturb 
hm  spirit.  The  braves  will  bury  their  brothers ! " 
Huron  I  am  but  a  rude  forester.  I  have 
lived  m  the  woods  till  I  am  like  the  Indian 
rather  than  my  own  blood  and  race"— 

"Good.y  said   the  chief,  nodding  his   head 

J'^^^Jv^^'"''^  ^'■'"*''  "*''«  y°"t''  must 

be  buried  like  a  Christian  white  man." 

"The  Hurons  are  Christians,"  said  the  Indian 
slowly. 

"True,"  replied  the  scout;   "your  brothers 
must   not   be  turned   into  the  earth   like  the 
heathen  Mohawk !     «  We  must  bury  them  side 
by  side  with  the  youth ! " 
"  If 


194 


TIIK    WREATH    OF    WILD    FLOWERS. 


h 


"Hurou  and  pale -fiu-c  — all  tho  Hame  in  the 
grouiul  — all  the  same  before  God!"  said  the 
chief  earnently.  ^^ 

"  Not  the  Bame  here  on  the  earth  thou^di ! 
said  the  scout,  clin^nng  to  tlie  idea  of  the  su- 
periority of  his  race. 

"No?  Indian  tell  truth!  Indian  don't  steal; 
he  loves  God  and  prays  to  him;  what  more  pale- 
face?" 

For  a  moment  the  scout  was  silent ;  at  length 
he  said  :  ''  True,  Huron,  but  the  pale  face  is  richer 
and  stronger  ;  he  builds  splendid  cities,  makes 
fine  houses,  wears  i?ch  clothes,  drinks  costly 
wines."  The  scout  ceased  as  he  caught  the 
meaning  glance  of  the  Huron's  eye.  But  that 
look  passed  away  in  a  moment,  and  Ahasistan 

said  solemnly : 

"What  good  all  that— there  and  there  f'  os 
he  pointed  to  the  earth,  and  then  to  the  sky. 
The  scout  was  silent,  and  the  chief,  turning 
away,  said  :  "  Let  us  go  !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  time  to  dig  their  graves;"  and  the 
two  entered  the  forest. 

"  It  shall  be,"  said  Ahasistari,  "  where  the  foot 
of  the  Mohawk  shall  not  tread  upon  them." 


THE    WREATH   OF    WlL 


ly    FLO  WERS. 


^'\iy<mir  a  8uitixl>Io  fi,>ot,  the  If 
rr.Hlnuan  turnod  up  the  ho<1  witl 
f^ts,  and    in  a  short  time  had 


196 


V 


"Ton  and  the 
»  their  hatch- 


8(*(K)|) 


I.la<*  for  the  ,1,^,1.  The,,  they  r^trj' ri"'" 
fT  'o  "'-  village,  a,..l  joined  tl^  ;■,;''  £ 
;;-  were  ,...le  of  the  branehe.,  of'tro    '.str      ' 

«..  the  «oft<.t  foliase,  that  the  liWe.,  ":« 
,""f  "'T"  «7'"^  "'*■■•'••  I"  o.,e  of  ,h„  ,,„  ; 
.".I  l«H.„  o,„..l  the  .sa<.k«  ,„  Hhich,  .si,,,.,.  ;Z 
tl.e,r  ..|,o„kIer«,  the  ,„i.,io„„ri.^  ;.rne<l  h  'r 
vostn,e,.t.  and  the  sacre<I  ve«,el«  i„  tl,d  „u 
ney«  through  the  Uundless  forests  •" 

In  l,i,s  white  surplice  they  robe<I  the  geutle 
n.v,ce;  ,„  that  pure  garment  in  which  he  1^  ,o 
often  served  at  the  holy  sacrifice  they  J'Z 
h.m  for  the  solemn  burial.  His  I,a„ds  S 
..oekly  crossed  upon  his  breast.  Tl,ey  ra  1^ 
I'uu  sadly  and  laid  l,im  on  his  bier;  theyS 
It  and  strode  forward.  ^ 

At  that  instant  a  slight  female  figure  pierced 
through  the  group,  and  gazed  for  a  moment^ 
the  face  of  the  dead.  Then  ,h»  ..1  "  °"'*°*  "" 
or  Wild   flowe.   upon^t  btw "Td  ^sS 

dSr  '"''  ''  '''  ^"^^»  «'^'  »- 1  th! 


196 


Tin:    WREATH    OF    WILD    FLOWERS. 


■  J    I  i 


BoiirinK  torclu^  in  their  Imndfl,  tlic  pr(HH-«^ion 
^^•(>^Ina    nolcirtnly    into    the    forrst,   and    pausra 
l)CHiac  the  new-maac  grave.     Slowly  aiul    earo- 
fully  they  laia  him  in   his  silent    resting-place, 
while  the  li^rht  of  the  torehes  UaimMl  np«>n  hiH 
an^^elie    faee,    ana    refleeteil    from    the    ^.aowinji; 
colors  of  the  wihl  flowers  on  his  hrow,  his  eh<rk 
seemeil  to  bloom  with  a  tin^'e  of  life.     Ho  haa 
passeil    into    aeath    siiaaenly,    in    th«^    midst   of 
prayer;    its    heavenly    raaiance    still     hoverea 
arouna     the     chiselleil     features.     15<'autiful     m 
death,  crowneil  with  the  wreath  of  flowers,  ixiA 
rolxxl  in  unspottcnl  white,  the  young  martyr  lay, 
a  halo  of  unearthly  glory  seeming  to  the  rapt 
behoiaers  alrcaay  to  glow  arouna  his  brow,     liy 
the  siae  of  the  gentle  novice  they  stret^-hetl  the 
scarrca   forms  of  the  two  Huron  warriors.     In 
silence  their  brothers  laia  them  aown  to  minglo 
their  aust  with  one  of  another  race,  yet  one  in 
faith,  ana  hope,  ana  charity ;  one  by  the  boml 
of  that   church   which    gathers   alike   all   souls 

within  her  foia. 

"  De  piofunais  clamavi  aa  te,  Domine !  arose 
in  the  aeep  voice  of  the  priest,  ana  the  Hurons 
responaea. 


1.1 


THE    WliEATlf    OF    WILD    FLOWKRS. 


197 


O!  liow  Hoi(Mnn  was  the  Ixirial  c^Toruoijy  tlicro, 
in  i\\v  hour  of  nii<liii^r|,t,  |,y  tlio  wild  ^rl,.a,„  „f 
torcln's,  umltT  the  fon'st-trccs,  with  the  dusky 
forniH  of  th«?  Ilurons  ^rroujM-d  around  th«' grave. 

It   was  done.     Upon   the  t-old    hosom  of  the 
dead   till  the  elo<ldc<l  earth,  which  was  to  be  the 
dwellinjr-plact.  und  Iionie  of  the  body  until    ita 
luouhleriiig  dust  should  nnnj^^K;  with   it.     Care- 
fully   they    replaml    eaeh    sml,   and,   above    the 
whole,  strewed   the  fallen    leaves  again   so  skil- 
fully that  it  might  never  more  Iw  found  save  by 
those  who  now  iooked  upon  it.     As  they  finishe<I, 
a  figure  flitted  from  the  spot;  the  Indian  maiden 
had  IxH'u  gazing  on  the  seene.     In  silenee  they 
wended  their  way  back  to  the;  village,  AhasJstari 
and  \Ai  Loup  in  the  rear,  covering  every  foot- 
step, and  removing  every  trace  of  their  passage. 
When  they  had  reached  the  centre  of  the  village, 
the  chief  addressed  the  priest: 

"Father,  there  is  little  time  to  spare;  the 
routed  Mohawks  may  reach  the  nearest  villages 
of  their  tribe  by  daybreak,  and  we  have  many 
days'  march  before  us  !  " 

"I  am  ready,  my  son,"  said  the  Jesuit  gadly. 
17* 


4 


for  the  death  of  his  young  comjmiiion   wciurhed 
heavily    ui)on    him.     As    he    spoke,    Morning 
F'h)\ver  stood   before  him,  and,  in   a   low  tone, 
mentioned  tiie  name  of  Kiskepihi,  and   pointed 
to  his  lodge.     The  Jesuit  followed  her  thither, 
wliile  the  Hurons  made  their  preparations  for 
depn  -ture,  gathering  all  the  arms  at  the  village, 
and    destroying   them,   and    loading   themselves 
with  a  supply  of  corn  for  the  march.     Father 
Laval  found  the  young  Indian  stretched  upon 
his  couch,  his  face  covered  with  his  hands. 
"  My  son,"   he  said,  "  be  not  cast  down ! " 
The  Indian  looked  up  proudly ;  but  the  glow 
of  spirit  passed  in  a  moment  from  his  cheek,  and 

he  said : 

"The  home  of  Kiskepi^a  is  destroyed;  his 
people  are  s'ain,  and  he  must  lie  upon  his  bed 
helpless  as  a  woman!  Bid  the  Hurons  come; 
Kiskepila  would  die  \  " 

At  this  moment  Ahasistari  entered,  and  stood 
behind  the  Jesuit;  all  was  ready  for  departure, 
and  time  was  pressing ;  but  he  waited  patiently 
till   Father  Laval  should  conclude  his  conver- 

.  •    .-  A^    ...^^.^    oo    +Vio    IVTrklinwlr    envv    hirn     lift 


THE    WREATH   OF    WILD    FLOWERS. 


199 


raised  himself,  and,  with  a  look  of  proud  defi- 
ance, said : 

"  Kiskepila  is  the  young  eagle  of  his  tribe !  the 
triumph  of  the  Huron  is  but  little  without  his 
scalp." 

Ahasistari  did  not  move;  but  the  Jesuit 
replied:  "My  son,  do  not  entertain  such 
thoughts ;  the  Huron  does  not  desire  to  shed 
your  blood.  It  is  our  sincerest  wish  to  be  your 
friend,  and  the  friends  of  all  men  rather  than 
their  foes."     The  Huron  chief  assented. 

After  a  pause,  the  Mohawk  continued :  "  My 
people  are  routed;  but  they  fled,  not  from  the 
living,  but  from  the  dead!  The  blaokgown 
called  the  great  white  warrior  from  the  spirit- 
land  to  rescue  him." 

Father  Laval  listened  in  wonder,  and  replied : 
"  My  son,  this  is  some  wild  mistake." 

"Champlain!"  said  the  other;  "Kiskepila 
heard  the  cry,  and  saw  the  warriors  of  his  tribe 
turn  like  women  from  the  face  of  the  Avhite  man. 
Who  could  fight  the  dead  ?  " 

In  a  moment  the  whole  matter  became  appar- 


-.iiv      V--      vii-w      liiiii-vi    xji.      ;,iic    U  ecu  it. 


J.  ill;  iiiViiiiUil  Ui 


Ill 


200     THE    WREATH   OF    WILD   FLOWERS. 

opinion  in  the  village,  in  regard  to  the  policy  of 
condemning  80  great  a  medicine  as  they  consid- 
ered  Father  Laval,  had  made  the  taunt  of  Kiohba 
remembered;    and    when    they    heard    the    cry 
«  Champlain ! "  and  saw  the  assault  led  on  by  a 
white  man,  they  believed  that  the  challenge  of 
Kiohba  had  been  accepted,  and  that  the  great 
Frenchman   had   arisen   from   the  tomb  to  the 
rescue      Whilst  the  priest  was  endeavoring  to 
explain  this  to  the  Mohawk,  Ahasistari  left  the 
lodge,   and   in  a   few   moments   returned   with 

Pierre 

"UEspion  Hardi,"  he  said.  The  Mohawk 
looked  upon  the  scout  for  a  moment;  then 
hiding  his  head  in  his  hands,  remained  in 
imperturbable  silence. 

"Yes!  L'Espion  Hardi,"  said  the  scout, 
"that's  the  name  the  Hurons  call  me,  and,  if  I 
had  not  been  delayed  in  the  swamp  ground  in 
getting  to  my  station  according  to  the  plan  of 
the  chief;  or,  if  he  had  held  his  fire  a  little 
longer  until  I  gave  the  signal,  not  a  Mohawk 
would  have  escaped." 

"  It  is  weii,"'  saiu  tiie  eniei.        -uut  ^  j^si^^-^u. 
Hardi  was  delayed  in  the  forest  too." 


THE    WREATH   OF    WILD    FLOWERS.     201 

"  Ah,  your  Huron  nearly  missed  the  trail,  but 
we  came  in  time." 

**  Yes.  Ahasistari  was  about  to  fulfil  his  oath, 
and  go  to  die  with  his  father  at  the  torture  fire, 
when  the  sounds  of  the  coming  braves  struck 
upon  his  ear." 

Father  Laval  addressed  a  few  kind  words  to 
the  Mohawk,  and  left  the  lodge.  The  Hurons 
bound  all  those  who  were  left  at  the  village ;  and, 
having  heaped  a  mass  of  fuel  upon  the  fires  to 
impress  any  returning  stragglers  with  the  idea 
that  a  strong  force  was  still  there,  leaving  a 
broad  trail  to  the  edge  of  the  forest  on  the  north- 
west as  if  striking  to  the  waters  of  Ontario,  then 
doubling  and  striking  into  its  depth  towards  the 
northeast,  hastened  rapidly  on  their  return. 

The  time  which  must  elapse  before  any  pursuit 
could  begin  would  enable  thern  to  escape,  pro- 
vided Fathei  Laval  held  out.  The  party  under 
Watook  had,  in  order  to  be  sure  of  the  route  of 
the  Mohawks,  proceeded  to  the  scene  of  the  first 
encounter,  and  had  there  found  the  canoes  which 
had  been  concealed  in  readiness  for  another  foray. 
With  fortunate  preoautlon  Watook,  after  observ- 


1 


2trj      THE    WREATH   OF    WILD    FLOWERS. 

ini:  tlie  direction  of  the  trail,  had  sent  these  barks 
uj)  a  stream  whieh  flowed  into  the  St.  Lawrence 
from  tlie  Mohawk  country.  Several  days'  rapid 
journeying,  in  which  they  sought  little  sleep  or 
rest,  brought  them  to  the  spot  where  the  boats 
were  concealed.  Here  they  cmbarkeil,  and  de- 
scending quickly  to  the  St.  Lawrence,  turned 
their  course  once  more  with  saddened  and  chast- 
ened hearts  towards  the  Huron  missions. 


s 


i\ 


\\  A 


fc 


CHAPTER  XLL 
THE  conclusion: 

lEARS  passed.  Twice  had  tlie  snows  of 
winter  fallen  ;  twice  the  blossoms  of 
spring  had  bloomed  :  summer  was  upon 
the  land ;  and  the  fields  and  waters  laughed  in 
glad  sunshine. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  day  that  a  group  of 
idlers,  resting  upon  the  quay  at  Quebec,  gazed 
out  listlessly  upon  the  waters,  observing  the 
motions  of  the  boats  passing  to  and  from  the 
few  vessels  lying  in  the  river.  Occasionally  a 
canoe,  paddled  by  Indians,  would  shoot  out 
from  the  shore,  and  pass  gracefully  along  the 
waters,  as  its  occupants  bent  their  course  towards 
their  settlements ;  for  the  Christian  Indians  had 
formed  themselves  into  communities,  and  lived 
aruunu   tiieir  churelies   uud    tiieir   priests — the 

203 


204 


THE  coxcL  rsrox 


n 


I 


flock  around  the  shepherd  —  within  the  borders 
of  the  provintK*. 

*'  The  Indians  are  returning  to  their  homes," 
said  one  of  tlie  j^ronp.  *'  I  thou«;ht  they  wouhl 
have  remained  in  town  to-ni«rht;  to-morrow  is 
tlie  festival  of  the  Assum})tion." 

"  True/'  said  another  ;  *^  but  they  are  returning 
to  celebrate  it  at  their  own  villages." 

"  They  are  very  pious  and  devout,"  continued 
the  first.  "  Their  example  is  enough  to  slianie 
the  better  instructed  white." 

•'  Iktter  instructed !  "  said  the  second  speaker 
M'ith  a  laugh  ;  *'  but  that  depends  upon  the  sense 
in  which  you  use  the  })Iirase.  They  are  unsophis- 
ticated, it  is  true;  and  their  pastors,  the  Jesuits, 
have  succeeded  in  preserving  them  from  the  con- 
tamination which  so  often  follows  in  the  ])ath  of 
the  white  man  in  his  contact  with  the  Indians. 
They  are  untaught  in  the  world's  learning,  per- 
haps, and  undervalue  it;  but  I  warrant  thee, 
neighbor,  they  will  repeat  the  Pater  and  the 
Ave,  and  the  creed  and  the  decalogue,  with  thee, 
and  explain  them  too,  as  well  as  thou  canst ;  and 

1     .-><->!. «V>K<M«     flioxf   nvonfico  wnat 


1-  _i 

WiiUi 


is     UlJttCi    o 


"^Mr.^.t,^ 


THE   CONCLUSION. 


205 


tliey  have  Iciirncd :  a  tiling  which  you  and  I,  and 
many  more  of  the  *  better  instructed/  sometimes 
do  not  consider  as  necessary  as  we  ought." 

"  Yes,  1  admit  they  are  good  and  practical 
Christians  —  thanks  to  the  zeal  and  energy  and 
purity  of  life  of  their  pastors." 

^'  Is  it  not  admirable,  this  courage  and  dariiig 
of  the  Jesuits,  that  led  them  into  the  forest  to 
bring  these  wanderers  to  God  ?  " 

"  They  tell  me,"  said  another,  "  that  in  France 
there  are  some  who  begin  to  rail  against  the  order 
as  proud,  intriguing — as  seeking  al'ter  wealth 
and  power." 

"  Oh,  doubtless !  Yes,  I  have  heard  so,  neigh- 
bor. They  seek  wealth  in  strange  places ;  here 
in  the  forest,  in  China,  in  England  on  the  scaf- 
fold. Yes,  it  is  the  wealth  of  heaven  they  are 
seeking!  Ah,  it  would  be  a  glorious  thing  to 
place  one  of  these  silken-robed  revilers  by  the 
side  of  an  humble  Jesuit  in  the  forest,  beyond 
the  great  lakes,  among  the  wild  Indians,  who 
have  never  yet  seen  the  face  of  a  white  man. 
Give  them  both  staff  and  scrip,  and  a  wooden 


cross — 


11 


18 


206 


THE  CONCL  USIOX. 


*'  Aye,  or  hind  them  both  to  the  Maike,  with 
the  Havagc  Inxpiois  around  them,  tearing  their 


i  j 


aroi 
ncm 


flesli  an<l  torturing  them  to  death,  its  I  have  seen 
the  Je.suit  die,  with  a  prayer  upon  liis  lips"  — 
said  a  voi(;e  ahrnj)tly,  and  the  speaker  rose  frotn 
a  seat  whieli  \w  had  oeeupied  near  the  i>arty,  but 
coneealcMl  from  them  by  some  bah's  of  goods,  and 
turned  his  steps  towards  the  town.  A  pause  for 
a  moment  ensued. 

**  Who  is  that  man  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  group. 

"Ah,  that  is  VEspion  llardi!"  said  the 
defender  of  the  Jesuits,  whose  name  was  Paul. 
"  I  have  heard  it  said  that  he  was  out  some  years 
ago  with  a  party  of  Hurons,  who  endeavored  to 
rescue  two  missionaries  from  the  Mohawks.  It 
is  a  sad  tale ;  but  it  so  often  happens  thus  in  this 
wild  land,  that  one  can  scarcely  recall  all  the 
facts  to  mind.  Yes,  one  they  saved,  Father  Jean 
Laval ;  the  other,  a  novice,  was  already  dead  at 
the  torture-fire  when  they  became  master  of  the 
village.  The  Daring  Scout  is  right;  bind  the 
Jesuit  and  his  reviler  to  the  stake,  and  see  who 
will  die  with  the  sweetest  conscience  and  the 
Tr|nef  i>!nf>id  sTTjile spp  whosp  so'il  Will  bpst  befit 


THE   COXCL  I'SIOX. 


207 


a  martyr.     Ali !   it  is   tiie  hour  of  death  which 
proves  the  value  of  the  past  life  — which  tries  its 

That 


lein. 


motives,  and  explains  and  illustrates  tl 

is  the  hour  when  cunning  is  of  no  avail ;  wlieu 


wrong    will 


weigh 


upon    the    conscience,    and 


wring  out  the  cry  of  horror  from  the  soul.  The 
death  of  one  Jesuit  is  worth  the  whole  lives  of 
a  thousand  of  their  revilers.  The  dying  of  the 
one,  and  the  living  of  the  other,  alike,  are 
irresistible  arguments  in  behalf  of  the  assiiilcd 
and  the  revi'.al.* 

"The  blood-prints  of  tlieir  martyrs  have  al- 
ready rendered  holy  the  borders  of  New  France, 
and  sanctified  and  dedicated  to  God  the  great 
valley  beyond  the  western  lakes.  They  have 
bought  it  with  their  toils  and  sufferings ! " 

*  Compare  the  dying  scene  of  the  Jesuit  martyr  in  China, 
in  Japan,  amongst  the  Mohawks,  or  with  Abenakis  — even 
upon  the  scaffold  in  the  realm  of  Britain  — suffering  in  the 
dissemination  of  religion,  in  the  teaching  of  morality,  with 
the  life  of  an  enemy  of  theirs,  such  as  Sue,  spent  in  sowing 
broadcast  the  seed  of  immorality  and  licentiousness,  in 
spreading  infidelity,  in  assailing  Christianity,  and  battening 
upon  sin  and  sorrow.  Ah,  it  is  glorious  to  have  such  ene- 
mies; thev  are  their  own  refut.ation  iht^l^  .".wn  .".".r-..-i.-  — . 
nation,  with  all  rational  Christians. 


208 


THE   CONCLUSION. 


"Ami  tluH  L^Etiplon  Ifardi — I  have  never 
BXH'w  him  Ixjfore  —  does  he  come  ot\eii  to 
Q.iehw?" 

'*  It  is  very  plain  that  you  are  not  lonjr  of 
New  France.  Of  late  he  comes  fre<iuently  for 
ammunition,  as  he  says:  but  he  always  aills  at 
the  house  of  the  Jesuits :  for  during  that  event 
he  formed  a  reverential  affection  towards  the 
patient  a^id  enduring  priest,  which  the  rude 
hunter  cannot  conquer." 

"Tlien  Father  Laval  is  still  here?" 

"  Yes,"  said  M.  Paul ;  "  he  returned  from  the 
Huron  missions  some  months  since,  and  is  recruit- 
ing his  health,  which  was  much  shattered  by  the 
incessant  toils  and  labors  of  a  two  years*  mission 
among  the  wandering  tribes,  addcnl  to  the  effects 
of  the  sufferings  he  endured  while  in  captivity 
among  the  Mohawks.  But  see !  yonder  come 
two  canoes  down  the  river  towards  the  city ;  all 
that  we  have  hitherto  observed  were  leaving  it." 

Tho  rest  of  the  group  directed  their  eyes  up 
the  river  upon  the  objects  indicated.  Sweeping 
majestically  around  that  point  from  which  Father 
Laval  had  bid  adieu  to  Quebec  two  years  before, 


THE   CONCLVSms. 


209 


«"nc  bvo  .nnoc*.  cad.  urRo,!  by  aevoml  rowen,. 
Auled   by  the  current,  they  r,.,.i,lly  „ean^    the 
town,  unt.1   ,t  wa«   ,,.«Hiblc  to  distinguish   the 
fi.c^  of  the  o,..u,,a„l«.     ]„  the  first  ,^noe  »t.KKl 
a  young  Indian  of  powerful  frame.     His  head 
was  ornamented  with  t^glo- feathers;   his  drtisa 
was  a  nch  roU.  „f  skins,  bound  roun.l  his  wai« 
w.th  a  finely  workt.1  belt ;  his  fa«,  was  free  from 
pamt,   and    he   was    totally    unarme,!.     Behind 
h.m   rowe<l   another    Indian,    the   eross   around 
whose  neck   ,,r,K;lai,„ed   him   to  be  a  Christian, 
rhe  second  canoe  contained  a  single  male  and 
two    females;    one  youthful    and    Inautiful     in 
whom    the   freshness   of  girlhood   had   ripened 
.nto  fuller   bloom.     The   other  was  older,  and 
the  Imnd  of  time  had  already  scattered  a  few 
white   hairs    among  her   thick   locks.     At   the 
bow  of  each  «moe  was  fastened  a  green  branch, 
the   Indian  symbol  of  peace  and  amity      The 
young   warrior   paused   for   a   moment   to  gaze 
upon  the  growing  city,  and  then  bending  again 
to  his  paddle,  sent  the  light  bark  on  more  fleetly 
The  evening  sun  was  still  casting  his  glory  uiwn 
the  waters,  when   the  bow  of  the  fir«f  ^r.^ 


210 


THE  coycLi'sfoy. 


graUnl  on  the  Hand  of  the  quay  U'low  the 
lookers-on.  The  Indian  warrior  leajKHi  ashoro, 
and  Wis  companion  drew  t!ie  light  bark  upon 
the  l)each.  In  another  moment  the  whole  party 
Htooil  together.  Thou  the  Chrintian  Indian 
taking  the  lead,  at  a  quick  pace  turnetl  towards 
the  town.  It  was  too  common  a  sight  in 
Quebec  to  attract  any  extraordinary  attention, 
and  the  party  passed  on  unheeded.  The  young 
brave  of  the  eagle  feathers  trod  on  in  silence, 
scarce  deigning  to  notice  what  to  him  must 
have  been  wondrous  wealth  and  opulence,  but 
regardless  of  all  around  he  followed  in  the  lead 
of  his  guide.  At  length  the  Christian  Indian, 
a  Huron,  paused  before  a  house  of  some  size, 
and  after  looking  about,  a*-  if  to  recognize  the 
lamlmarks  of  the  place,  advanced  to  the  door 
and  knocketl.  In  a  few  moments  it  was 
opened. 

"  A  Huron  captive  from  the  Mohawks,"  he 
said  to  the  janitor,  "  would  see  his  father  of  the 
blackgown."  The  door  was  cast  open,  and  they 
entered.     After  a  little  delay  the  superior  came 

in   t.lipm. 


THE  coxcLrsfoy. 


211 


"My  Hon,  what  is  it  that  you  ^vi.sh?"  he  mU\ 
to  t\w  Jfuron. 

"My  fathor,"  ho  ropHwl,  pointing-  to  the 
young  brave,  ''a  Mohawk  neo|>hyte." 

I»njr  (lid  the  ko(kI  old  Jesuit  gaze  upon  the 
powerful  young  Mohawk,  one  of  that  terril>Ie 
race  c,f  Iroquois  who  had  hitherto  re>siMt«Ml  the 
efforts  of  the  minsionary,  and  now  heaven  had 
sent  one  to  iii«  door  demanding  admission  to  tlie 
church. 

"  Yes ;  there  is  but  one,"  he  said,  speaking 
half  aloud,  "who  can  speak  the  MnhsrHrarrd 
Huron  tongue;  and  though  in  ill  health,  he  is 
full  of  zeal.  Stay,"  he  continued  aloud,  "  my 
children.  I  will  send  one  to  you  who  can  speak 
your  own  language,"  and  left  the  room. 

The  Mohawk  remained  cold  and  imperturbable, 
evincing  no  curiosity  as  to  what  had  been  said' 
or  anxiety  for  the  result,  though  he  had  closely 
watched  the  face  of  the  speaker.  The  females  of 
the  party  were  not  as  impassive,  but  examined 
with  wonder  the  simple  decorations  of  the 
reception     room,     looking    with    astonishment 


iinnn    fVio   four 


piaia  piCcUieo  wiiicu  udorneu  the 


212 


THE   CONCLUSION. 


walls.     At   length   a   step  was   heard  without; 
and,  through  the  opened  door,  entered  a  Jesuit. 
His  face  was  averted  as  he  came  in,  but  when 
he    had  closed    the  door   he  advanced   towards 
them.     It  was  Father  Laval.     His  countenance 
was  very  pale  and  attenuated,  and  his  hair  was 
gray:  lor  the  toils  of  a  few  such  years  as  his 
had  been   will   touch  with  white,  as  surely  as 
the  placid  flow  of  many.     Suddenly  the  impas- 
sive face  of  the  Mohawk  warrior  lit  up  with  a 
bright  smile ;  a  low  exclamation  of  surprise  broke 
from  his  lips,  and  he  stepped  forward  to  a  spot 
where,  from  a  window,  the  light  fell  full  upon 
his  manly  form,  and  said: 

"  lilackgown !  —  Kiskepila !  —  Morning  Flow- 

er  I 

The  Jesuit  clasped  his  hands,  and  looked 
towards  heaven,  for  the  memory  of  sad  scenes 
came  over  his  soul ;  but  in  a  moment  the  cloud 
passed,  and  joyously  he  stretched  out  his  hands : 

"Welcome,  Young  Eagle!  Welcome,  gentle 
maiden!  Sad  were  the  scenes  in  which  we 
parted;  joyful  is  this  hour  in  which  you  come 
back  to  me,  like  the  fruit  of  my  captivity." 


THE   CONCLUSIOX 


213 


The  Indian  maiden  wept  as  slie  took  the  hand 
of  the  priest,  and  she  said  :  "  U\  sjiriiifr-tinie  and 
in  summer,  Morning  Fh)wer  lias  strewed  fresh 
flowers  over  the  grave  of  the  young  pale-fa^e; 
and  she  has  i)rayed  there  that  the  God  of  tlie 
pale-faee  would  hear  her.  8he  has  said,  often  — 
oi'tcn  :  *  Mary  !  Mary  ! '  "      . 

"  And  heaven  liaa  heard  your  prayer ! " 
exclaimed  the  j)riest. 

*'Kiskepila  has  thought  many  times  upon 
the  words  of  the  blackgown,"  said  the  young 
Mohawk;  and  pointing  to  the  JIuron  captive, 
he  continued:  ''Kiskepila  took  the  Huron 
captive:  and  he  told  him  over  and  over  the 
teaching  of  the  good  father,  that  he  might  not 
forget  it.  The  Mohawks  are  at  war  with  the 
French ;  but  the  Mohawk  brave  has  come  hither 
to  be  baptized.  Kiodego  has  gone  to  the  spirit- 
land,  and  Kiskepila  is  a  chief  in  his  village. 
Morning  Flower  often  talked  of  th^  teaching 
of  the  blackgown,  and  would  seek  the  father  of 
the  pale -face.  She  has  come  with  the  mother 
of  Kiskepila.'* 

Father  Laval  learned  that  the  Indian  maiden, 


2U 


rill-:  roNVL  rsiox. 


clu'rislmiu  liis  instructions  in  her  memory,  and 
gaininu;  liirtljcr  knowledge  from  the  Huron 
Cii|)tive,  had  ''fused  to  bec(>'  ^c  the  wife  of  the 
chief,  except  tlirough  the  Christian  sacrament: 
and  to  he  receiveil  into  the  church  the  party 
had  undertaken  the  h)ng  journey  to  Quebec. 
Kiskepila  informed  tlie  priest  that,  after  the 
surprise  at  the  village  and  the  departure  of  the 
victors,  the  Mohawks  had  not  reassembled  until 
late  the  next  day ;  that  then  a  strong  party,  with 
reinforcements  from  the  other  villages,  had  set 
out  in  pursuit,  but  that  after  an  ineffectual  chase 
had  returned,  having  lost  the  trail  upon  the 
banks  of  a  stream  of  water  that  flowed  into  the 
St.  Lawrence;  that  he  had  explained  away  to 
them  the  cause  of  their  panic,  and  had  ever 
after  maintained  an  ascendancy  among  them, 
and  led  them  on  as  their  favorite  war-chief. 

Father  Laval  then  began  to  question  the  two 
neophytes  upon  the  subject  of  religion.  He 
found  their  dispositions  good,  and  iheir  instruc- 
tion, so  far  as  it  had  gone,  solid  and  well  under- 
stood ;  and,  after  consulting  with  his  superior, 
determined  that  they  should  be  baptized  on  the 


THE   CONCLUSION. 


216 


morrow,  as  an  offering  to  God,  through  the 
Virgin,  on  the  feast  of  the  Assumption,  and 
as  a  dedication  of  the  nation  of  the  Iroquois 
to  Christ  under  her  invocation.  Accordingly 
he  placed  the  two  females  under  the  protection 
of  the  nuns  of  the  Ursuline  convent,  with 
directions  that  the  maiden  should  be  further 
instructe<l  and  prepareil,  by  means  of  an  inter- 
preter, for  the  reception  of  baptism  and  the 
sacrament  of  penance.  In  their  own  house 
Kiskepila  and  his  two  companions  were  shel- 
tered—  Father  Laval  that  same  evening  attend- 
ing the  necessary  preparations  on  the  part  of 
the  young  chief. 

With  the  dawn  of  morning  rung  out  the 
joyous  peals  of  the  church-bells  for  the  festival 
of  the  Assumption.  The  city  was  throngeii; 
many  of  the  colonists  from  the  country  had 
assembled  to  celebrate  the  festival  in  the  co,pitaI. 
Crowds  of  strangers  and  Indians  filled  the 
streets.  The  military,^  in  all  the  pomp  and 
circumstance  of  war,  were  drawn  out  in  long 
array,  preparatory  to  marching  to  the  cathedral 
to  assist  at  the  holy  sacrifice.     At   length  the 


216 


THE   CONCLUSION. 


Is 


pealing  bells  again  rung  out,  the  solemn  chant 
arose  in  the  holy  temple,  the  clcej)-toned  organ 
swelled  up  its  lengthened  aisles.  All  (Quebec 
had  gathered  there,  for  the  rumor  had  gone 
forth  that  an  interesting  ceremony  was  to  be 
performed  at  the  conclusion  of  the  bishop's 
solemn  mass.  The  hour  came.  Kneeling  at 
the  baptistery,  before  the  sacred  font,  were  two 
figures — ^-an  Indian  warrior  and  a  female.  Ovei 
the  head  of  the  latter  was  thrown  a  light  veil  of 
muslin,  through  which  her  jet-black  hair  showed 
its  glossy  hue.  She  was  clothed  in  a  neat  dress 
of  spotless  white.  Beyond  them  knelt  a  crowd 
of  mingled  colonists  and  natives.  Beside  the 
sacred  font  stood  up  the  Jesuit,  Father  Laval, 
enrobed,  and  holding  his  missal  in  his  hands. 
On  either  side  were  acolytes,  with  lighted  tapers 
in  their  hands.  The  ceremony  proceeded ;  it 
was  finished ;  and  with  extended  hands  the 
priest  bestowed  upon  them  his  blessing.  The 
neophytes  arose.  In  solemn  procession  they 
moved  towards  the  altar.  The  priest  entered 
within  the  sanctuary,  and  they  stood  before  him. 
He  jjoined   their   hands;    he  placed   the  sacred 


Tiifi  coyer  rsroy. 


217 


ring  upon  the  finger  of  the  maiden ;  he 
uttered  tlie  filial  blesning  of  the  church  upon 
those  who  worthily  enter  into  the  holy  bonds 
of  matrimony,  and  the  aflfeeting  scene  was  ended. 
Tears  gathered  in  the  eyes  of  Father  Laval  as 
he  uttered  the  last  prayer.  Two  years  ago  that 
very  day,  upon  the  fea.st  of  the  Assumption,  he 
had  run  the  gauntlet  in  the  villages  of  the 
lilohawk.  These  two  youug  souls  were  now 
before  him,  the  first  fruits  of  his  toils  and 
sufferings,  through  the  merits  of  Christ,  and  he 
returned  thanks  to  G  >d  for  his  goodness  in 
sending  him  so  abundant  consolation.  At  this 
moment  a  Huron  pressed  through  the  kneeling 
crowd,  advanced  towards  the  Mohawk,  and 
stretching  out  his  hands,  exclaimed : 

"  Kiskepila !  there  has  l>een  war  between  thy 
people  and  my  people.  Let  the  hatchet  be 
buried.  Let  the  tree  of  peace  spring  up,  and 
the  Mohawk  and  the  Hun^n  will  rest  together, 
like  brothers,  under  its  shade.  It  is  the  spirit 
of  the  religion  which  thou  hast  embraced." 

"  The  words  of  the  chief  of  the  Hurons  are 
good!  Kiskepila  loveth  peace!  He  has  come 
19 


218 


THE   CONCLUSION. 


- 


1 1 


fi'-\ 


ili 


i. 


unarmetl  into  the  fortress  of  his  brothers.  The 
bhiekgown  has  taught  Kiskcpila  that  they  are 
the  lovers  of  peace,  the  merciful,  and  the  forgiv- 
ing, who  are  to  be  happy ! "  and  the  young 
Molunvk  grasped  the  hand  of  Ahasistari. 

"  The  li^n  and  the  Iamb  shall  lie  down 
toiretb.or  —  it  is  true;  the  Mohawk  and  the 
Huron  are  friends,^'  said  a  voice,  and  the  figure 
of  L'Espion  Hardi  was  seen  passing  down  the 
aisle  of  the  cathedral  with  a  sad  and  pensive 
step. 

Together  the  two  chiefs  knelt  before  the  altar, 
and   with   uplixlod    hands    the   priest    besought, 
blessings  from  heaven  on  the  union,  and  peace 
thus  made  and  cemented  by  the  solemnities  of 
his  holy  church. 

"O  God!  I  thank  thee  for  thy  ineffable 
goodness  to  thy  unworthy  servant !  "  exclaimed 
the  Jesuit  as  he  departed  from  the  church  with 
a  happy  heart.  **  Thou  didst  turn  my  steps 
from  the  beaten  path  to  those  who  had  already 
heard  thy  Gospel,  to  tread  in  sorrow  and  cap- 
tivity the  way  to  the  darkened  heathen ;  and 
thou  didst  there  make  me  plant  in  sadness  and 


THE    CONCLUSION. 


219 


suffering  the  seed  which  has  this  day,  through 
thy  gracx",  borne  fruit  in  peace  and  joy.  Thou 
guidest  our  steps  and  dircctest  our  energies. 
Truly  out  of  seeming  evil  thou  dost  bring  forth 
good." 

In  that  year  a  solemn  treaty  of  peace  was 
formed  Ixitween  the  French  and  the  Iroquois, 
and  a  mission  was  founded  in  the  Mohawk 
valley.  And  although  interrupted  by  outbreaks 
of  the  savages,  and  interrupted  by  wars,  it  con- 
stantly revivetl,  until  at  a  period  of  ten  years 
later,  "  there,  in  the  heart  of  New  York,  the 
solemn  services  of  the  Roman  Catholic  church 
were  chanted  as  securely  as  in  any  part  of 
Christendom."  * 

*  Bancroft,  III.  p.  113. 


